Uncharted Waters
by Lady.Bronte
Summary: And if this was his punishment, his final moments before passing away in that cave, Jim was more than willing to have his last breath spent there with Spock, doing what he never had the chance to do, saying what he never had the chance to say. HIATUS.
1. Chapter 1

Please keep in mind that this is a K/S. Nothing graphic of course, but there will be some parts where I push the boundaries in future chapters.

I would appreciate it so much if you reviewed! I love to know what I've done great and what I could do better as it makes me a better writer. So please, give me a shout and tell me what you think! I would love you so much for it!

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**Part One**

"Mr. Spock, you are hereby relieved of duty until you are deemed fit by both Dr. McCoy and myself. Until then, you are dismissed."

Sitting back into his chair, Jim stared blankly at the door that Spock had just disappeared behind not a moment ago. He repeated a mantra to himself, chanting over and over again that he had had no other choice but to keep Spock off the bridge and away from himself until they could figure this, this _situation_, out. The weight of his decision laid heavily on the young captain's shoulders and he wished in vain that this horrible mess had never happened in the first place.

The briefing room was now empty and at the moment he liked it that way. Being alone with ones thoughts is never a very safe thing to do in a stressful situation but Jim welcomed the unusual quiet with opened arms, knowing that he wouldn't be alone much longer. There were things to do, paperwork to sigh, new Federation protocols to review...captaincy wasn't all that it was cracked up to be when it came down to the gritty little things but Jim enjoyed it none the less.

Except for today; he certainly wasn't enjoying the events of today very much at all. In fact, he was seriously mulling over spending the rest of the day in cargo hold two just to get away from everybody. It was tempting, but ultimately foolish considering that he _is_ the captain after all and if they ran into anything hostile or dangerous, the bridge wouldn't have a captain or a first officer to guide them through it.

Jim ran his fingers along his temples and massaged them gently, warding off the oncoming headache that was beginning to swell in his brain. Dipping his head, he closed his eyes and was immediately assaulted with a thousand different scenarios flooding his mind like a ruthless hurricane.

_Their lips were only inches away...just one more moment..._

Jim couldn't stop the groan that determinedly escaped his pursed lips. He felt his body grow warmer then colder at the thought, leaving him both shivering violently and sweating abundantly at the same time. Trying to shake the errant thoughts out of his mind, he got up onto his feet and strode towards the doorway in pursuit of the bridge.

"Good evening sir," Ensign Chekov greeted as Jim stepped onto the bridge. In any other circumstance, he would have been happy to march back into his proverbial sand box and resume ordering people around but today was a very different situation. Begrudgingly, Jim grunted in response to his overly enthusiastic navigator and tried to ignore the stares he received by Lieutenant Sulu and the other bridge hands that had also been present to see what had just happened.

Noiseless whispers flitted throughout the room like anxious fireflies drawn in by the light; they gathered around Jim and began to choke him, leaving him no choice but to make a grand excuse to beat feet it out of there. He didn't want to have to explain why Spock was to be locked in his quarters for however long he deemed necessary. He imagined Nyota Uhura would be the one to kill him first.

"Sulu, you have the bridge," Jim announced forcefully, staring down the faces that were gazing back up at him, "I've got some emergency Federation stuff I have to deal with."

"But sir-" Uhura began.

"Starfleet sent it right to my office. That's why you don't know about it Lieutenant."

Uhura looked crossly at Jim, knowing there was something fishy going on. A woman's intuition is sharp and Nyota's was no exception.

"Are you sure it's legitimate? Because if-"

"Uhura, is it that hard to accept that some things are just out of your control? Now get back to your station!" Jim barked, his body tightening with rage. Nyota stumbled back to her chair at the captain's sudden outburst and nearly dropped her headset while she was fumbling with it, her saucer sized eyes never leaving the captain's seething ones. Jim spun around slowly, giving the rest of the bridge a look that could kill Klingons, and then quickly stomped out of there and into the nearest turbolift.

His anger didn't dissipate as he rode the turbolift, nor did it go away as he stalked down the corridors to his quarters. Slamming the codex furiously with his entry code, the doors to his lodgings flew open and he stomped inside with enough force to throw a rhinoceros. Growling in frustration, he threw himself onto his bed and sat with his head in his hands, the fury dripping off of him slowly but surely until he was calm again.

_Rockslides...hands slide...inhibitions liquefy..._

"Ugh!" he exclaimed in exasperation, trying desperately to purge the terrifying images that kept appearing in his mind every time he closed his eyes. He fell back onto his bed and stared blankly at his ceiling, his face oddly calm in comparison to the inner struggle he was facing inside.

They had been ordered by the Federation to investigate a colony they had lost contact with earlier that week. It had taken them three days to travel there and when they finally arrived at the coordinates, they were shocked at what they saw before them. What had once been a hospitable and lush M class planet was now just border lining on M and L, resulting in extreme temperatures and tempestuous weather that ravaged the land and sea mercilessly. The clouds had turned from a whipped cream white to a dark yellow and the Enterprise's scans were being deflected by the strange and impenetrable vapours churning in the atmosphere.

After reporting back to the Federation, Jim was ordered to send down a search and rescue team and a science team to discover just what went wrong down on the planet. Unsettled, but unable to decline his commands, Jim ordered the two teams to materialize and head down to the cargo bays for shuttle transportation to the surface. Scotty couldn't get a clear signal onto the face of the planet because of the dense haze so manual transport was necessary. This also made Jim incredibly apprehensive about the whole situation; he didn't like sending his crew members into uncharted and unknown waters.

His first officer went down with the science team and set about giving them specific tasks during their ride down in the shuttlecraft. Sulu lead the search and rescue team that would head out in front of the science team so that no hostile creatures would be able to sneak up on the unsuspecting scientists. Jim kept a constant comm. on both of them so that they could provide constant updates on the situation from the ground.

It wasn't looking so good.

After deeming the surface completely devoid of life, Sulu and Spock authorized that it was both safe and advisable for another team to come down and look for life beneath the lifeless crust and down into the many caves that were dug into the mountains of the region. The colony that once resided there had spent their days in the caves mining and exploring because of the planet's three scorching suns and so the catacombs beneath the surface were endless and maze-like. Upon scanning the entrance to one of the caverns, Spock deduced that the tunnels ran almost a kilometer deep in all directions for miles.

Jim beamed down with the third party and allowed Spock to divvy the parties into multiple groups of two or three for maximum coverage of surface area. There were a lot of caverns to cover and a lot of them would end up merging together anyway, giving each group plenty of chances to meet up with others and regroup. Each group was given a datapad that showed the path they were to take and if they met up with any survivors, they were to call up to the group remaining at the entrances for assistance and transport.

Once the teams had dispersed, only Spock and Jim remained at the mouth of the catacombs with the outside rescue team. Sulu had gone in with another botanist in hopes of finding some living plants but the odds of finding any were looking pretty grim. The atmosphere of the planet was mostly xenon and hydrogen, meaning that any sort of life surviving was a very long shot.

But Jim Kirk didn't believe in no win scenarios. So, with purpose in his stride and his head held high, he marched into the cavern and followed it down the only passage not being explored with Spock treading lightly at his heels.

Five minutes passed, then twenty, and soon it had been over two hours and there still hadn't been any sign of life or adjoining canals to meet up with others. Not wanting to voice his qualms and uncertainties in front of his seemingly worriless first officer, he kept walking down the consistently downhill corridor in the dark with Spock close at his side.

"Captain, the atmospheric xenon is only in trace amounts in this cavern. Shall we proceed?" Spock asked, breaking the eerie silence of the caves.

"Yeah, why not?" Jim replied, shrugging in his environment suit, "It's not like we've got anything better to do."

With a cock of his eyebrow and an inquisitive look to match, Spock began to scan the entry to the cavern and paused when his tricorder examined the rocky red ceiling, "Sir, the ceiling of this cavern is highly unstable and has a forty one point six percent chance of collapsing while we are inside. I highly recommend avoiding this cavern."

"But Spock! Come on...there could be survivors in there! And there's a fifty eight point four percent chance it won't fall on us at all which means the odds are in our favour!" Jim countered earnestly, motioning towards the mouth of the ominous cave. Spock eyed its sinister depths for a moment before finally conceding, his curiosity and enquiring ways getting the best of him. Jim _did_ have a point after all.

Then, all went to hell in a hand basket.

Just as Spock and Jim cleared the entrance, the ceiling of the cave began to collapse on top of them. Jim threw himself onto the ground and ducked under a larger rock so he wouldn't be pummeled to death by the murderous boulders falling like a raging rainstorm. He couldn't see where his first officer was and he wasn't sure where he had fallen but Jim was hoping against hope that he had had enough logic to find some shelter from the cascade.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, the cave in was over and thick crimson dust saturated the air around them. Kicking out some of the rocks that had fallen beside the boulder Jim was hiding beneath, he dragged himself out and coughed painfully, knowing the dust wasn't exactly beneficial for breathing in. Squinting in an attempt to look through the dust, Jim tried to look for any sign of a grey envirosuit but found no sign of any.

"Spock!" he cried frantically, his voice cracking because of the dust in his lungs, "Spock! Where are you?"

Silence. Jim held his breath and tried to contain the fear that was coursing like wildfire though his veins.

"Spock!" he bellowed shrilly, his panic seeping out through his voice. He dove over to where he thought he had last seen Spock and wrestled with the fallen stones in an attempt to get there, forgetting completely about the head piece of his envirosuit. He had lost it at some point during the rockslide and didn't care if he was breathing in xenon or arsenic or any other toxic gas; he just wanted to find his first officer.

Ripping holes in his already damaged suit, he tore through the boulders as fast as he could and threw them aside with all the strength he could muster. Painstaking minutes had passed before he finally rested his bloody hands on the plastic fabric of Spock's suit and he dug with a vengeance as he unearthed his buried friend. After throwing most of the boulders off of his upper half, Jim hoisted Spock out of the wreckage by his armpits and rested him up against a large rock. Dropping to his knees, Jim tore Spock's headpiece and mask of his body and threw it aside, gently placing his hand beneath Spock's chin to open up his airways. He was breathing but he appeared to be unconscious and unresponsive to Jim's touch, which Jim found odd since Spock usually had a panic attack every time Jim rested a hand on him; the young captain had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with being a touch telepath.

Brushing back the Vulcan's bizarrely disheveled hair, Jim noticed a considerable gash along his hairline. It was deep enough that Jim was able to see Spock's skull underneath, and with a queasy turn of his stomach, Jim tore a piece of fabric off of his undershirt and doused it in water from his pack before placing it on the green and yellow wound.

As Jim continued to press the makeshift gauze to Spock's forehead, he began to look around for a way out. The entrance had been completely blocked off but the rest of the tunnel had only been partially obstructed and Jim, knowing that the air was lethal in the direction he had come, knew his only option was to go further into the cave and hope that they wouldn't run into any toxic fumes.

"Errg..."

Jim's head shot around to stare anxiously at the stirring Vulcan, nervously gnawing at his bottom lip. He released his hold on Spock's head and brought them to rest on his knee, hoping his austere first officer hadn't noticed his touch, "Spock? Can you hear me?"

"Fortunately," Spock replied, cracking one of his eyes open to stare at the captain before him. Jim didn't have to be a Vulcan specialist to know that Spock wasn't particularly amused by the situation, "Remind me not to take your advice next time we encounter an unexplored and structurally unstable cavern in the future."

Jim stared.

"Did...did you...did you just make a joke Spock?" Jim stammered, completely taken aback. His mouth was slightly ajar and his eyes were as wide as moons, presenting to Spock a visage that could have been mistaken for a Terran blowfish.

"I have no comment on the matter. As for yourself captain, you appear to be bleeding." Spock replied, motioning to Jim with a slight inclination of his head. Remembering himself, Jim raised his hand and touched his throbbing lip as lightly as he could. He winced visibly and when he pulled his hand back, he saw a considerable amount of blood coating his fingers.

"Naw. I'm fine Spock, it's only a scratch," Jim responded casually, "It's you that I'm worried about. You've lost a lot of blood and you've got quite a gash on your forehead."

"I am quite aware of my physical condition captain. Vulcan's are quite in tune with their physical-"

"Yeah yeah, enough about the whole Vulcan 'I know everything cause I'm condescending and patronizing and pompous and snooty and self-important and I know more then you' bullshit."

"Then I will not continue my self-diagnosis. Though if any of my ailments prove to be life threatening, you will not be able to aid me due to your obstinate arrogance and pride."

Jim stared. Again.

"You are impossible, you know that? Goddamnit..." he muttered irritated, throwing up his arms in defeat, "Go on then you belittling, full of yourself..." he trailed off, grumbling to himself like a deranged idiot (at least in Spock's opinion).

"If you insist Captain."

"Can you start calling me Jim for Christ sakes?"

"I do not see the purpose of using a Terran religious figure as a catchphrase-"

"I don't care!"

"Perhaps if you took the time to care captain-"

"Call me Jim!!!"

Spock let out the Vulcan equivalent to an exasperated sigh, "If you insist."

"I've been insisting all along Spock!" Jim exclaimed, throwing his arms up again in frustration, "Those rocks must have done a number on your head 'cause you sure are acting stupid."

"Perhaps your irrational behaviour is a result to the poisonous gases seeping through the porous rock structures that these catacombs are made of."

"Shut up Spock. Now tell me what's wrong with you."

"I believe that my left femur, patella and tarsal are fractured in multiple places along with several contusions to my torso and to my lower limbs. I am suffering from a grade two concussion but there appears to be no fatal damage to my cranial activity. Those are my most serious ailments and I believe none are life threatening."

"Are you sure Spock?" Jim asked, grimacing with worry. His brows knitted together in both frustration and contemplation as his mind ran over a million scenarios. He had been looking away when he questioned the Vulcan but brought his eyes back to meet his onyx ones; they seemed almost to be filled with doubt.

"In truth, I am not quite certain capt...Jim. My head wound seems to be affecting my judgement more then I initially perceived. I believe it may be more critical then I first considered."

Something stabbed at the pit of Jim's stomach, "Here," he said, once again pressing the improvised dressing to Spock's forehead. His first officer closed his eyes and his lips twitched downwards, indicating that he was in some level of pain. Biting his lip in unease, he reached to his belt with his freehand and pulled out his tricorder. Flipping the scanning device open, he tried to locate their coordinates but was ultimately disappointed; his tricorder had been damaged indefinitely by the avalanche of gigantic boulders.

"Mine may still be functional," Spock mumbled softly, lowering his head so that his chin was resting on his clavicles. Grunting quietly in reply, Jim gently reached for Spock's utility belt and grasped the tricorder in his hand, hoping that despite the beating Spock had taken, his comm. link would at least be intact so that they could be rescued. Without it, they would never be found.

Jim fiddled with the small device; it had been damaged but the triangulation programming was still intact and functional. Grinding his teeth together, he tore the backing console off of his own broken tricorder and started tinkering with the two in hopes that he could take both parts and make one working scanner.

"Hey Spock, you got a screwdriver or somethin' in that belt of yours?" Jim asked with a piece of metallic converter in his mouth. Spock made a small hum in reply and Jim took it as a yes, opting to root around the pockets of the belt to at least find something of use.

He managed to rummage out a three pronged pin device and a silver box full of miniature technological cortex pieces much to Jim's relief. Everything he needed was here to fix the locator device except for the goddamn screwdriver he needed. Jabbing aggressively at the device before him with Spock's prong apparatus, he managed to fix the tricorder (while keeping a close eye on Spock) and sent out a location relay on the emergency frequency, hoping blindly that the message would transmit through all the rocks to someone.

_Click._

Jim's flashlight flickered for a few seconds and then promptly went out.

"Shit."

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Thank you so much for reading and please review!

Love and fluff,

Brontë


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you Dilmn8, Veglma (you'll see very soon!), MirrorFlower and DarkWind, applepie1989 (cliffhangers are the greatest plot device ever created! bwahaha!), Toadflame (scuba diving! haha I wish I knew something about scuba diving but I don't so anything water related is a no on my part), bulletproofweeks (I'm glad you find this exciting! I'm pretty pumped about it myself!), calipalace/Courtney (thank you so much! you're review is a HUGE compliment to me!) and kitchan (I know, my cliffies are pretty wicked! Bwahahahahaha!)

Thank you so much for the reviews again and I really hope more of you guys review again! I'm relying on you guys to inspire me with your words. Let me know how I'm doing, tell me if I sound like a Harlequin romance gone bad, review just to say hi! Please, the completion of this story relys on you!

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**Part Two**

"Keptin? Sir? Zere is a message from StarFleet zat just came in for you," Chekov's cheery voice announced at full volume over Jim's comm.

Jim groaned and rolled over onto his stomach, burying his face in his pillow, "Tell them I'm very busy."

"I vill tell zem sir. But I zought you vere talking to zem already?"

"I was. But I'm very busy right now so tell them I'll message them back later."

"You're not busy doing..."

"Doing what ensign? What are you implying?"

"Er...just forget about it keptin. Chekov out."

The Enterprise's overly enthusiastic navigator terminated the connection and left Jim to stew over his thoughts once again. He rolled again onto his back and kicked off his boots, resting his socked feet on the scratchy Starfleet issue duvet he was laying upon. Grumbling, he ran his hand over his face and closed his eyes; all he could see in his mind's eye was that godforsaken cave.

The cavern was engulfed in overwhelming darkness. Jim felt as if he were suffocating; fear was clasping at his nerves in its crushing, toxic grasp and terror churned in his stomach like a caged beast. He reached out to touch Spock's shoulder in a panic, assaulted with an unfounded concern that he had disappeared as well.

For there was nothing out there that scared Jim Kirk more than being alone.

Grasping the Vulcan's weary shoulder, he fumbled around until he found his neck and then his cheek, resting his palm against its smooth, balmy surface. It was slightly clammy and Jim tapped him gently for a response; Jim knew from observation that Spock did not sweat even in the hottest of conditions.

"Please captain- err...Jim," Spock began hesitantly which was beyond peculiar for a Vulcan, "Your panic is fairly disconcerting. Attempt to calm down."

Jim recoiled his hand immediately, "So that's why you don't like being touched..." Jim said with a small amount of awe in his voice, "So...so you can feel what I feel through your skin?"

"My race has the ability to sense the feelings and thoughts of other sentient species through physical contact. It often becomes overwhelming, especially in social situations that require physical contact as a way of salutation."

"But...but the older you...he did some crazy touchy thing with his fingers-"

"He performed a mind meld. It is a completely different ritual."

"What do you mean?"

"He...I..." Spock faltered for a moment and Jim inwardly wished that he could catch a glimpse of the puzzled Vulcan, if only for a second, "The older version of myself shared images from his mind and embossed them into yours. I find it distressing that he...I would force himself or myself or..." he fell silent and Jim reached out again to touch him, this time reaching for his fully clad knee, "It is very confusing to discuss an alternate universe under these circumstances. My injury is impeding my judgement."

"Understandable." Jim replied simply, reaching for a bottle on his belt, "Do you need some water Spock? I have about a half a bottle left."

"We should conserve our resources."

Silence enveloped them like a heavy blanket and Jim sat awkwardly on his haunches, still making contact with Spock in some way. His first officer's shallow panting was worrying him and once and a while his breath would hitch painfully, almost resulting in sending Jim into cardiac arrest many times. Jim would tinker with the tricorder in his hand blindly, hoping the transceiver was still functional and sending out a signal. The young captain wasn't sure what Spock was doing but the struggle in his hoarse breath clearly told him that he wasn't doing well at all.

After what felt like an eternity of silence, Jim scooted closer to the Vulcan and pressed his right leg against Spock's so that he could free his hands from contact. He wasn't sure why he was so adamant on having contact with a man who clearly didn't want it from him, but he heard no protest so he kept it up for his own sanity's sake, "Are you still doing alright Spock?"

Spock made a small sound and Jim wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

"I...I apologize for not being able to...to fix you I guess. I wish I could."

"Apology...accepted," Spock replied weakly, his voice barely audible, "My head wound is bleeding. Press the...bandage..." Spock trailed off, breathing raggedly again.

"Of course."

Jim picked up the wad of fabric that he had carefully placed onto his thigh and cautiously reached up towards Spock again. His free hand met with Spock's sweaty skin and he shuddered, shocked at the change of temperature; he concluded that Spock was developing a fever, probably from one of his many injuries. Jim wasn't sure whether they had been sitting there for hours or days.

Upon emerging from his train of thought, Jim's hand traveled up Spock's neck, over his cheek and up the bridge of his nose to where he knew the wound resided. Reaching up with his other hand, he pressed the dressing to the deep abrasion and continued to cup Spock's cheek in his hand. He let a sense of calm fall over him with knowledge that it would in turn calm Spock and he heard his Vulcan counterpart sign gently into his palm as his head lolled to the side.

It started with his toes; they started to tingle pleasantly, barely discernible at first.

It rose to his fingers; he experienced a sensation that felt as if his hands were resting in a tub of soda pop.

_Tingly_, he concluded.

It wasn't long after he emerged from his thoughts that he realized that Spock was asleep. Jim panicked for a moment, knowing first hand that you shouldn't fall asleep after a serious concussion. But, after listening to Spock's breathing for about a minute or two, he concluded that he was sleeping peacefully enough.

Releasing Spock's cheek as gently as he could, Jim brought his hand back to his body and immediately noticed that the tingly sensation in his hands and feet had disappeared. Frowning, he pressed a cautious finger to Spock's neck and the feeling returned graciously.

"Hmmm..." Jim hummed quietly, tipping his head to one side. _What the fuck?_

Two ideas hit him sharply in the head at once. He could wake the Vulcan and ask him why the hell he was making him feel tingly inside like a thirteen year old girl or he could try to investigate himself. Considering that the Vulcan sounded so peaceful in his slumber, he chose the latter.

Sitting motionless for a moment, he considered his options; there weren't many. It would have been a lot easier to just wake him up and ask but if he did, would Spock even reply? Did Spock even know what he was doing? Jim didn't care at this point whether Spock knew or not, he just wanted to _know_.

So, without further ado, he gently reached out, grasped Spock's left arm and slid down to his fingers, splaying them out in his hands. Thinking back to the day he thought would be his last, he placed three of Spock's digits onto his cheek, his temple and forehead.

_Jim covered his eyes, shielding them from the blinding sunlight that surrounded him like a well worn mantle. It was comforting in contrast to the damp cool of the cave and he felt every cell in his body tingle pleasurably in the warmth. Blinking repeatedly, he allowed his eyes to adjust to the sun's dazzling rays and took a moment to gaze around at his surroundings._

_Jim took in the landscape with eager eyes and he was somewhat puzzled at what he saw; he was standing on a grassy crag at the edge of an ocean and behind him lay a mountainous desert, similar to the landscapes of Utah that he familiarized himself with in his youth. The sandy expanses were peppered with small oases that were filled with lush foliage and...buildings? Federation buildings?_

_Weird._

_Jim shrugged and started to make his way down the crag, keeping his eyes peeled for any signs of his pointy eared first officer. The grass was soft against his bare feet-_

_Bare feet?_

_He looked down at himself and gasped in surprise; he was dressed in a pair of worn jeans and a white cotton undershirt. His eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment, "Did Spock's subconscious change me out of my uniform? Cause that's just kinda weird-"_

_The scene shifted abruptly and the images of the ocean and the desert disappearing in a rippling heat wave. Then the scene went completely dark and for a moment, panic ripped though Jim like a typhoon wave. Seconds after though, the scene brightened up a little bit and revealed a spread of stars before him. He couldn't make out any of the constellations, try as he might, and in his absorption he didn't notice the figure approaching him on his left._

"_Jim?"_

_The young captain nearly jumped out of his skin; he spun around on his heels and found himself merely inches away from Spock's inquisitive face. He was gazing softly at Jim with one eyebrow arched and he appeared to be slightly confused._

"_Fascinating...you were present in my previous dream as well. Are you aware as to what you were doing?"_

_Jim swallowed dryly, hoping desperately that he could talk his way out of invading Spock's subconscious, "Err...no Spock-but-I'm-sorry-for-invadin'-your-dreams-and-all-tha-"_

"_You were caressing my hand in a most curious fashion. It was...comforting."_

"_Umm...yes-well-I-suppose-it-would-be-in-our-situa-"_

"_You were not rambling incessantly in my preceding reverie."_

"_Well-I'm-sorry-about-that-but-"_

_Jim was silenced._

_With one gentle swoop of his arm, Spock brought his hand to Jim's face and softly caressed the supple skin of his cheek. Jim's vocal chords suddenly ceased to function; the trail that Spock left along the surface of his skin persisted to tingle like liquid fire and Jim was rendered speechless by the sensation. Spock's hand fell down to Jim's jawbone and traced along its handsome edge with deft fingers until they reached the small hollow behind his left ear. Tipping his head to one side faintly, Spock extended his fingers into Jim's soft, honey coloured hair and gently tangled his digits within his supple, tousled mane. Jim closed his eyes and shivered, enjoying the tingly feeling of Spock's long and clever fingers playing within his locks of hair despite himself._

"_Fascinating."_

_Jim's eyes flew open and they locked, sapphire with onyx, for one zealous moment, "Despite my deep state of slumber, you appear to be...so existent, so real."_

_Jim was speechless; he had never heard Spock in all his hours with the man, say something so undeniably and indisputably_ human_._

"_The Vulcan Elders believed that I was somewhat of a...a mistake I suppose. I have the ability to dream, just as any human is able to, but they do not. Regrettably, they do not know what they are missing." Spock retracted his hand and gazed sidelong at the stars that surrounded them, "You see, in my state of paradoxical slumber, I am able to submit myself to a meditative state of being that not only reflects what I have gone though throughout the day but also who I am as a being. In my dreams I am often greeted with the semblance of yourself."_

"_You see Jim," Spock continued, turning his head back to face his astonished captain, "You are almost always present in my dreams and though its purpose still escapes me, I believe there is a reason for this occurrence in my subconscious. Do you follow?"_

_Jim could only nod his head, still overwhelmed by the unfamiliar and prickly feeling dancing along his skin and through his body._

"_Because you are a figment of my subconscious, I believe that you may hold the key to the answer I seek," Spock motioned forward with his hand uncharacteristically and Jim couldn't stop himself from taking Spock's hand in his own, craving more of the pleasant tingle he received when he touched him. Jim maneuvered Spock's hand so that it splayed against his own, palms touching completely and the tips of their fingers buzzing together thrillingly, "Do you have an answer?"_

_Jim looked up from their joined hands and made eye contact with the Vulcan again, unable to stop the grin from spreading across his face. If Spock thought that Jim was a 'figment of his subconscious', why not say the cheesiest thing he could think of? _

"_Spock, I don't have that answer you're looking for," Jim said as mock-serious as he could without breaking into laughter. He felt bad when he watched Spock's face fall slightly, looking more discouraged then he had ever seen him, "But I do know where you can find it!" Jim flashed Spock a beautiful grin and upon seeing it, the Vulcan couldn't help but reciprocate; a small, almost unnoticeable smirk graced his flawless features, "Your heart Spock, look inside your heart and you will find the answer."_

_Spock looked stumped for a second and Jim watched him gaze downwards with him eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Suddenly, Jim felt anxious about what conclusion Spock would come to; what would he say? What would he do if he found out that Jim wasn't a figment at all? What if Spock decided never to touch Jim again? Why did he even _want _his first officer to touch him? The youthful captain bristled with worry as he waited for Spock's judgment._

"_My mother used to tell me something similar..." Spock said, still gazing downwards at the stars, deep in thought, "I never quite understood the meaning....until now."_

_It happened in one moment, a moment that seemed to last for hours. Spock stepped forward and bridged the gap between them, surging both their bodies together in one liquid movement. The thrill of contact was intoxicating; every part of Jim's body tingled as if it were on fire and he trembled against Spock's form as he tried to control himself. Spock brought his hand up to Jim's face and cupped his cheek, bringing their faces barely an inch apart. Jim's clouded eyes were fixated on Spock's open lips and his mind screamed for the contact, screamed for the feeling. Unable to control himself any longer, Jim unleashed the thirsty desire swelling in his soul and reaped the consequences._

_Spock's lips were nothing like he had ever felt before; they were unbelievably fiery against his own supple lips, both in temperature and temperament. They moved against his as if they were one fluid being and Jim could no longer suppress the moan that was growing like a fiendish animal deep within his chest. Spock wrapped his one arm around Jim's torso and the other remained glued to his cheek, unwilling to release the pleasant contact that ran like an electric current between the two of them. _

_Spock parted his lips slightly and Jim reciprocated almost instantaneously, as if they were sharing the same collective mind. Their tongues touched and Jim was stunned by the sensation; it was both burning and soothing, electric and tantric and Jim just couldn't get enough. Lifting his chin instinctively, Jim deepened the kiss, giving the Vulcan before him all the consent he needed to sate his thirst._

_There was a reason for Jim's frequent apparitions in Spock's dreams; it was a sign from his subconscious, telling him something very, very important._

_Jim was...compatible in more ways than Spock wished to admit._

_Jim was certainly physically attractive, that could not be debated. His piercing cobalt eyes, his handsome, cunning grin...Spock could barely suppress the groan building inside of him as he continued to press their bodies together. Instead he gripped him closer, holding him as tightly to his own body as he could. He could feel the tendrils of lust begin to coil at his being, dragging him closer and closer to the abyss where logic meant nothing; and for some strange and obscure reason, Spock couldn't wait to fall._

_Behind Jim's growing desire for the man before him, he couldn't help but feel slightly perturbed at the fact that he could hear Spock's thought processes in his own mind._

_Creepy._

_Trying his best to ignore the strange quirk in their mind meld gone reversed, Jim slipped his hands beneath Spock's crimson garb and dragged his hands across the flesh beneath._

_Spock couldn't contain his pleasure this time; the Vulcan moaned, rumbling deeply in his chest. Jim felt it against his own torso and let his hand rise, reveling in the feeling of Spock's heated skin as it tingled pleasantly across his fingers. He then drew his fingers downwards, trailing thin shadows of fervour along his back until he reached the waistband of Spock's garb._

_Spock couldn't take it any longer; he broke the kiss and pressed their foreheads together, breathing heavily as he tried to catch his fleeting breath. They locked eyes and Jim let out a deep breath, his mind reeling from the loss of contact. He had never felt so...aware; aware of every cell in his being pulsating in unison as one, as one with himself, as one with Spock, as one with his surroundings, as one with the world around him. It was liberating._

_Spock's clever fingers traced patterns up Jim's spine until he reached the nape of neck. Burying his fingers into Jim's disheveled locks, Jim closed his eyes and groaned quietly; he had never felt so insanely _turned on. _He was both enchanted and appalled over the fact that he was engaging his first officer and that he was actually enjoying it._

_Immensely. _

_Jim brushed his lips lightly against Spock's for a moment, taking pleasure in watching Spock's visage visibly lilt as he did so. He took Spock's upper lip between his teeth and gently nibbled, groaning as Spock dug his fingers against his scalp. The pain was electrifying...and it was killing him._

_And if this was his punishment, his final moments before passing away in that cave, Jim was more than willing to have his final moments spent here with Spock, doing what he never had the chance to do in real life. _

_This was a no win scenario._

_And for the first time in his life, Jim didn't even mind._

_

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_

Please review! The speed of which I write lies on your shoulders!

Love and fluff,

Brontë


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you to: MikoGoddess (Thank you! Your complimant just made my day!), Castell-Penn (I'm glad you liked that little part; it made me giggle when I wrote it too! But I can totally see Jim getting all flustered and bothered in a situation like that!), Dilmn8 (here's your update! the next update is up to you guys thought!), circa divide (well here it is!), MirrirFlower and Dark Wind (Jim gets beat up enough haha!), Danneel aka Sandpiper (ooo your predictions are exciting! Are they right? Are the wrong? You'll just have to wait! Heehhe! And thank you for that very long review, it was really halpful and it made my day!), FantasyFanatic08 (they sure do! Full Vulcan's such anyway :P ), SpirkTrekker42 (I'm glad my descriptions moved you that much! Your review gave me the warm fuzzies!), applepie1989 (a good ending? a bad ending? who knows! part four isn't written yet...) and Veglma (woo fist pump!)

Read on!

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**Part Three**

_Jim was falling weightlessly; he couldn't help himself as Spock drifted away, dragging the voluntary captain along with him. Their surroundings were becoming brighter, turning from a dark navy colour to a bright baby blue, illuminating the two of them like beacons in the night. They were like lights in the sky, like stars, like the Enterprise. _

_And he was reminded._

"_Spock, come one. Let's go home." Jim declared, pressing the limbs he couldn't feel against his counterpart's warm embrace._

_Spock peered back at him, his eyes betraying him, "I'm afraid it is too late for that Jim."_

"_What do you mean?" Jim asked quietly, his eyes wide and puzzled._

"_I am afraid I will not be returning. I will be remaining here."_

"_But...why Spock?"_

"_I...I believe I am..." Spock began, turning away from the man in front of him. Through their arcane connection, Jim could feel just how troubled the Vulcan truly was, "I believe I am dying Jim."_

_Jim froze, his heart failing in his chest, "You can't be dying! You only got a concussion!"_

"_I am afraid I neglected to inform you of the fatal wounds I obtained during the cave in. Many of my internal organs were damaged during the collapse."_

"_But why didn't you tell me?"_

"_I did not wish to alarm you."_

"_Then why are you telling me now?"_

"_Because you are merely a fabricated image of my imagination. I would find it too difficult to tell the existing you of my true predicament."_

"_What is that supposed to mean?"_

"_I...I do not know..."_

_Jim felt his blood run cold, "There must be something you can do! You're a Vulcan Spock! Can't you heal yourself by meditating or something?"_

"_You are mistaken Jim. I am only half Vulcan and I am not entirely able to reverse injuries as critical as these."_

"_But-"_

"_That is life Jim."_

_Jim ground his teeth together and gave the man before him the most determined look he could muster, "I will not let you die you...you stupid-gah! Damnit!"_

Jim tore Spock's fingers off of his tanned features and dropped his arm to the floor, hastily placing his hands underneath Spock's armpits in order to lay him down. Spreading Spock's limp body across the inconsistent floor, Jim shoved a rock beneath his uninjured foot so that he was in somewhat of a shock recovery position. Blindly, Jim unzipped Spock's enviro suit and began to peel it off of his upper limbs so that he could free his chest. Gently placing his hands along Spock's torso, Jim felt along his soft, clammy chest until he found the spongy spot where he was bleeding internally.

Jim cried out quietly, cursing himself for not knowing more about medicinal practices. He had no supplies and he had little training in the primitive, yet effective, life saving first aid. Grumbling in frustration, he placed his fingers against Spock's neck to check for a pulse.

It was faint, but it was there.

He bent down and cupped Spock's feverish cheek in his hand. He pressed their foreheads together and wished silently in his mind for Spock to persevere, to keep going, to realize that all was not lost as of yet. There was still hope, there was always hope.

Because Jim didn't believe in no win scenarios. Not anymore.

And he never would again, no matter how dire the circumstances.

"Captain! Captain can you hear me?!" Jim's head shot around towards the pile of hostile rocks and his jaw slackened in shock.

"Yeah! Get us out of here!" Jim screamed back at the rocks furiously. He was panicking now, his eyes flying between where Spock was laying and in the direction of the rocks. He could hear the grinding of the boulders being moved and Jim's blood began to pump fervently with adrenaline.

They broke through; "Captain! Can you see us?" Lieutenant Sulu shouted, pointing a flashlight through the tiny hole they had made through the rocks.

"Yeah! Get a medical team, Spock's badly hurt!"

From the light, Jim finally caught a glimpse of the near death Vulcan before him; he was whiter than snow and his lips were tinged a dark green. His head wound was covered in festering green and yellow crust and blood was seeping though his pant leg onto the rocky face below. Jim swallowed painfully and gathered his ailing fist officer in his arms carefully, trying not further aggravate any more of Spock's numerous wounds.

"Hurry up! Get us out of here!"

Sulu and his team dug though the rocks like a drill, throwing them left and right until they broke through the surface. Once the hole was big enough, Sulu crawled in and shone his flashlight towards the failing Vulcan and his eyes revealed his verdict.

There was no hope for him now.

"Goddamnit Sulu! Can't you beam us out of here?"

"The rocks are too thick! We couldn't get a reading on you two. You've got to come up farther!"

"Fine." Jim shimmied though the small crawlspace with his first officer in arms and emerged through the other side. The officers stared at him and the dying Vulcan in his arms, their eyes wide and solemn. Grunting at them, Jim began to run the way they had come, galloping over overturned boulders and stray rock that emerged from the floors.

"Jim! Stop! The gasses will kill you!" Sulu screeched, running up behind him like a bat out of hell, "Take my mask!" Sulu threw it to the captain and he caught it in Spock's lap without faltering in his stride. He started off again, carefully using the arm that was holding Spock's legs to dexterously manoeuvre the mask onto Spock's face instead of his own.

Jim could feel his head begin to spin; it was faint at first, like a buzz from some of Scotty's exceedingly strong scotch but then it began to make itself very apparent and Jim tried his damnedest to fight it off. It was filling his mind like a thick, pungent fog and soon Jim started to lose all sense of feeling in his feet. As he began to fall, both onto the ground and out of consciousness, the familiar sensation of transport engulfed him. And as he felt his molecules drift apart and fall away, he couldn't help but think about the man in his arms instead of himself.

Jim awoke in sickbay. He was stunned when Dr. McCoy didn't immediately start screaming obscenities at him and found the blonde nurse Christine Chapel tending to him instead. When he tried to sit up, she gently pushed him back, whispering words he couldn't hear over the clashing memories fogging his mind.

He was attached to a ventilator and he itched at the tubes poking into his nose. Nurse Chapel explained that he would have to breathe purified oxygen until his lungs and bloodstream were completely purged of the xenon and the helium that was wrecking havoc in his system. He turned his head and groaned raucously, the pain in his stiff muscles blinding him.

"Is Spock alright?" Jim asked quietly, his voice failing him at the last syllable. Nurse Chapel eyed him sympathetically and Jim knew the answer to his question long before she said a word.

"He's..." she faltered, gazing off into the deeper reaches of sickbay, "He's in critical condition captain. Dr. McCoy is doing the best he can for him."

Jim eyed the blonde nurse sceptically and Chapel wavered noticeably under his gaze, "How bad is critical exactly?" Chapel hesitated distractedly, her eyes flitting back and forth between where Jim laid and where Spock was obviously being held, "It's my job, my responsibility, to know Nurse. That's an order."

Nurse Chapel swallowed considerably and nodded slowly, dragging her soft blue eyes away from the depths of sickbay, "He's in surgery right now. We won't really know until he's moved into recovery...but Dr. McCoy's been in there for hours."

"Hours?" Jim implored, "How long exactly have I been under?"

"Around six hours approximately," Chapel replied solemnly, "You were both nearly dead upon arrival so Dr. McCoy decided to sedate you so that the oxygen would take effect. He didn't want you to...well...you know...escape..."

"Figures," Jim rolled his eyes in good humour, glancing wayward, "How long were we down there?"

"Sixteen hours or so, give or take. It's just a miracle Commander Spock survived that long," Nurse Chapel's eyes seemed to glitter with astonishment, "In his state, he should have died long ago, probably after the first few hours. McCoy didn't really stop to talk about it but he thinks that some strong Vulcan meditative force must have stopped him from going into cardiac arrest."

When Jim was released to his quarters, under strict rules for rest and ventilation by the ever oppressive tyrant Bones, he couldn't for the life of him lie down and sleep. There was just too much to think about, too much to digest. Every time he closed his eyes he was haunted by the phantom feelings of Spock's slender fingers gently grazing patters along his tender flesh. Every time he paused to blink, the evocative gaze of Spock's fiery onyx eyes bore right though his defensive walls and into his soul.

And this bothered Jim; he hadn't ever 'crushed', per se, on another man; he did not divulge in passionate embraces with other men. He had thought about it now and then but he found that sausage fests just wasn't his thing. He needed to act now and get this...this troubling ailment out of his system before he went insane.

Lieutenant Adrienne of astrometrics stood waiting in her quarters, her smile both enticing and utterly repulsive to the young and unsettled captain. She carefully relieved him of his loose green t-shirt and let it fall gently to the floor, eyeing him softly. Her intuition was sharp; something much deeper was tormenting him and she knew she had to do her best to try and help the tortured man before her.

"Let me help you Jim," she whispered quietly into his ear, "It's the least I can do, what any of us can do."

"Please Adie," Jim replied almost silently, surrendering his lips, his body and his mind to the striking woman in front of him.

But she did not feel like Spock as he ran his hand up her thigh, across her stomach, along the supple lines of her breasts. When she stripped him of every garment he possessed on his body and pressed him to her mattress, he couldn't help but halfheartedly relent as she crawled on top of him.

Jim felt too weak; he felt disgusted with himself despite his inner turmoil. But he couldn't deny the human urges that raced through his bloodstream like wildfire at the naked sight of her; but it was nothing like the sensation Spock had overwhelmed him with, nothing like that true fire that trampled him brutally in the most sensuous way possible.

Sensing his discomfort, Adie laid herself down beside the distressed captain and swept her manicured fingers across his bandaged chest, "Are you alright Jim? Do you wanna talk about it?"

Jim shook his head fiercely, as if trying to shake the troublesome thoughts out of him mind, "Forget it Adie. I need this."

After her last pleasured cry waned into silence, Jim crawled out the tangled mess of sheets and cleaned himself off. Adrienne moaned in protest but was quickly silenced by the tendrils of slumber; it was very late after all.

Gathering up his belongings, Jim returned to his own quarters as quickly as he could, wanting to shower off the stench of sex that surrounded him like a putrid, disgusting cloud. Cursing himself again and again as he wound himself through the corridors, Jim could no longer suppress the urge to gag.

Entering his room, Jim Kirk threw up in the waste bin of his bathroom and then promptly passed out on the floor.

When he woke up the next morning, he was in absolute agony; his head was throbbing as if he had a horrible hangover and his limbs felt as if they were made out of lead. Groaning painfully, he peeled himself off the floor and clambered onto his bed, turning on the ventilator he had supposed to be plugged into all night and shoved the tubes into his nose, breathing shallowly. In a few minutes, he began to feel better and the hammering migraine faded away into faintly pulsing headache. As he started to fall back into the welcoming arms of unconsciousness, an ashen, deathly face was the only thing that came to mind.

He woke up mid afternoon and stumbled his way to sickbay under the orders of Dr. McCoy and for once, Jim didn't mind heeding his friend's request. He wanted to see Spock, not that it would help him clear his conscious at all.

"Good god Jim, you smell like a sweaty locker room." Bones announced petulantly as the young captain made his way through the doors into sickbay.

"Thanks Bones." Jim replied monotonously, running his fingers through his unwashed hair. Nurse Chapel eyed him warily from a separate section of sickbay, knowing exactly what he had done the night before. It didn't sit well with her for some reason and his midnight romp was obviously not sitting well with him either.

Bones ran him up and down with his tricorder, rightfully bitching at him for not wearing the ventilator all night. The doctor was worried by the levels of stress in his readings and tactfully slammed a hypospray to treat post traumatic stress into Jim's oblivious neck.

"Jesus Bones!" he cried, yelping furiously as he hopped to the other side of sickbay, "Can you at least warm me before you stick me with one of those damn things?"

"Of course not," Bones replied, seeing the Jim he knew back in his ocean blue eyes again, "What fun would that be?"

"Bastard." Jim retorted, allowing himself a little smile to drift upon his features. He wouldn't admit it but the injection was making him feel a lot better than he was feeling only moments ago.

"And don't you forget it," Bones grunted smugly, following the direction of Jim's anxious gaze, "You can see Spock if you want Jim, but I warn ya, he looks more like a nuclear bomb victim then a Vulcan.

Jim made his way over anyway, holding his breath because he didn't know what to expect. The last glimpse of the Vulcan he had seen was that split second vision of Spock lying on the rocky ground, seeping blood and barely alive. He swallowed painfully and let out his pent up breath before stepping around the partition to see.

There he was, covered in bandages and connected to numerous machines but very much alive. He didn't look as pale or as green as he had in that cave and Jim let out a breath of relief, "Has he woken up yet?"

"Nah, not yet. I don't expect him to either. His kidneys looked like ground beef when I got my hands in ther-"

"Spare me the details please. I don't want to know."

"Right," Bones replied awkwardly, not taking much pleasure in the pained look of Jim's features, "He was pretty torn up inside to say the least. That cave in must have been pretty substantial to do that kind of damage."

"It was."

"So why aren't you torn to pieces?"

"I ducked under a rock."

"Not gonna elaborate?"

"Nope."

"Huh."

Bones frowned and took a few steps backwards, glancing sideways for the closest hypospray. He grabbed it in his hand and went off to his office to find a higher dosage of the stress masking agent. _Drugs were made for times like these..._he thought to himself bluntly, burrowing through his vast collections of vials.

"How are ya doing Spock?" Jim whispered quietly, pressing his digits to Spock's upturned palm. Jim tried to let a sense of tranquility fall over him but it was too hard to maintain; memories of the previous night clouded his vision and he retracted his hand quickly, not wanting Spock to sense his rendezvous with a woman he didn't even like romantically.

_Friends with benefits_, he thought to himself bitterly, pinching the bridge of his nose between his two fingers in anger. He grabbed a chair from the corner of the dividing wall and sat down upon it, running his hands through his hair anxiously once again. He was foolish and he knew it; he should have thought before he acted last night, he should have thought about Spock, what he had done with Spock. But that wouldn't have been James Kirk; badass, ladies man, captain extraordinaire.

Who was James Kirk anyway? He'd been acting like an idiot his whole damn life, pretending to be someone far greater than himself. An adrenaline seeking bad boy, a fiendish sex god (well, he hadn't actually pretended to be that), a handsome but deceitfully smart farm boy who certainly wouldn't be able to spell love without having a coronary. He'd been lying for so long, it would probably crack the mentality of those who knew him if they found out their badass captain liked puppies, let alone his first damn officer.

"Goddamnit Jim. What the hell happened to you in there? You're lookin' at that damn hobgoblin like it's your dying mother on there or somethin'" Bones grumbled, stepping into the partitioned off area with his hand suspiciously behind his back. Jim tore his eyes away from Spock's general direction, not being able to look directly at him, and stared up at his old academy friend with an odd grimace; it was meant to be a smile.

"I just spent sixteen hours beside a nearly dead body Bones. I'm feeling a little strange."

Bones scoffed and placed his hands on his hips, unintentionally revealing the hypospray he had been hiding behind his back. Faster than lightning, Jim snatched the hypo out of Bones clever hands, releasing the vial and holding up into the light before the good doctor had even registered.

"Look Bones," Jim started quietly, "I don't want your damn antidepressants or anything else that might knock me worse then I already am. I just sat beside my dying first officer and I couldn't do a damn thing about it! I deserve to be a little insane right now!"

The crease on Bones's forehead deepened, "Look Jim, it wasn't your fault that your damn elf got his insides turned to gravy-"

"To hell it was!" Jim shouted, standing up from his chair, "I led Spock down that damn cave even after he _told_ me, he fucking _told_ me that it wasn't safe! And yet I still insisted! I said 'hey! Why don't we go down a fucking unstable cave and get ourselves killed huh? Just for shits and giggles, c'mon Spock! Let's go get ya killed!'" Jim starred daggers at McCoy, seething in rage that was overflowing inside of him. He wanted to scream, he wanted to punch the hell out of something, he wanted to blow the damn planet up! There was nobody alive down there anyway; the parties found pockets of dead corpses in their searches through the mazelike catacombs of the planet. Why not blow the shit out of the pile of poisonous rock? And here he was, shouting at Bones like a child in a tantrum, like the typical James T. Kirk.

Because that's what Jim does; he takes his temper out on his friends like the bastard that he is, like the bastard he'll never stop being.

And it's _killing_ him.

Without another word to the awestruck doctor in front of him, or the pointy-eared comatose victim beside him, Jim stomped out of sickbay without any direction, without any cause, without anything but the self hatred boiling inside of him.

Bones gazed sidelong at the sleeping Vulcan and sighed in defeat. Running his hands through his chestnut coloured locks, he picked up the hypo and flipped it up into the air.

"Might as well get ready," he muttered crossly, "He's gonna hurt somethin'...if we're lucky."

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Review please and thank you!

Also, if you want a lighter read, you should check out **If You Just Smile...** which is a one-shot by myself that is pre-K/S. Check it out!

Love and fluff, Brontë


	4. Chapter 4

Since my computer has been at the hospital for a week and a half (Vista is evil!), I wasn't able to post this chapter. But now it is here! So please review, forgive me for my tardiness and enjoy more Jim angst!

Thank yous are at the end of the chapter today, just to mix it up! Thanks so much! : D

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**Part Four**

Bones was ultimately shocked when sickbay remained empty, with the exemption of the comatose Vulcan laying in recovery, for the rest of the day. There were no urgent crises, no emergency surgery, no 'he's dead Jim' to say once the distraught captain dragged his sorry ass in. McCoy waited, almost anxiously, for something to happen or some gruesome news to come jabbering through the comm., but nothing came.

This turn of events bothered Bones more than it pleased him.

McCoy's shift ended six hours later and with a curt nod to the senior nurse, Bones strode out of the door and down to his quarters. He was determined to find his restless captain before he did something detrimental not just to others, but to himself.

After changing out of his uniform and into some more comfortable attire, McCoy addressed the ship's database upon a screen just outside his lodgings for Jim's elusive location. He asked the computer in a gruff, harsh whisper for Jim's whereabouts while gazing around him in hopes that no one had overheard.

"_Captain James T. Kirk is in his quarters." _

Grunting softly in acknowledgment, Bones spun on his heel and walked a path often traveled towards his captain's humble residence. Within a few minutes, he reached the familiar set of sliding doors and quickly jabbed the button that would alert Jim to his presence.

_Beep_.

No response.

_Beep_.

No response.

_Beep beep beep beep beep beep_!!

Bones punched in the override code angrily, nearly slamming the codex to bits with his livid, work-calloused fingers. The door then opened for him easily and he was none too surprised at the sight that assaulted him from beyond the gaping entrance. Asleep and sprawled out on his stomach was Jim Kirk, curiously tangled with an empty bottle of whisky and a mess of wrinkled bed sheets. Crumpled clothes were scattered everywhere and the room reeked of some sort of alcohol that had spilled out of a small metal mickey onto the floor. Heaving a sigh, the good doctor stepped into the stinking pigsty and let the door close behind him in order to shield the crew from seeing their captain in the disgusting state he was in.

"What the hell are you doing to yourself man?" Bones muttered quietly, grabbing the fallen mickey off the carpet floor and screwing the lid back on. There wasn't any liquid left in the small tin container but it gave McCoy the peace of mind that at least something was in order in the chaotic, cluttered room. He tossed it onto the couch haphazardly and started to kick the clothes out of his way, grumbling with irritation as he got closer to the pitiful sight of his friend slumped over his bed like a fat, beached whale.

The crease between his forehead deepened; Jim had had his fair share of abuse when it came to his poison but why now? He didn't usually drink away his miseries like McCoy often did in his darkest hours and it seemed oddly uncharacteristic of him to booze himself to sleep without a nude woman of some race or another sprawled out beside him.

Flipping him onto his back, Bones eyed the youth quizzically; he seemed dead asleep but his eyebrows were furrowed unpleasantly, making him look more like the cantankerous doctor above him then the fervent youth that he was. _He's spent too much time hangin' around me,_ Bones thought gravely to himself, _I'll kill him if he keeps this up. _

He left not too long after, shaking his head in suppressed fury; he had lived with him long enough to know to contain his urge to pound a hole in Jim's skull because he knew he'd have to clean up the mess after. He meandered over to the mess to grab something to eat but as he stood in front of the replicator, he realized that he wasn't very hungry at all. He reasoned with himself, saying that it must have been the smell of burnt macaroni stinking up the hall, but he knew that deep down he wasn't fooling anybody.

Nyota Uhura watched him stomp out of the mess apprehensively, a cloud of anxiety dispersing in his wake. She frowned minutely and sighed into her mug of chamomile tea, hoping that the good doctor would resolve whatever problem that was resting on his shoulders.

Pavel Chekov gazed quizzically at the xenolinguistic expert sitting adjacent to him; he could tell something was wrong in the way that she gazed at the departing doctor and the navigator briefly wondered if their relationship was deeper than he originally thought. Dismissing the thought entirely, Chekov brought his attention back to the conversation at hand, which was currently being chaired by his left hand man.

"I saw Kirk last night coming out of his quarters. He wouldn't speak to me at all! He just brushed by me and carried on as if no one was there!" Sulu exclaimed, stirring his strawberry yoghurt with his spoon. He seemed troubled and Chekov couldn't help but lay a comforting hand on his helmsman's shoulder.

"He's probably not feeling wery good. All of zat toxic gas most likely made him crazy," Chekov reasoned, staring contemplating at his fork. He placed it onto his plate and gazed up at Sulu who grimaced back at him.

"Well, I hope he gets better soon. I like the old Jim Kirk a lot more."

"Did it ever occur to you two that maybe he's feeling a little guilty?" Nyota piped up, gazing at the pair accusingly, "He just spent nearly a day beside someone he couldn't help but knew was dying! I don't know about you but I think I would go a little insane knowing that I lead my friend to death and couldn't help him."

She stood up from her seat and strode off towards the exit, leaving her bowl of stir fried noodles untouched. Sulu and Chekov exchanged glances solemnly before finishing their dinner in silence; there was nothing left to say.

Nyota woke up early the next morning and walked down to sickbay, knowing fully that Dr. McCoy would be on duty long before she would be needed on the bridge. She stepped into sickbay and sought out the location of the ship's doctor, finding him without trouble beside the bed of the comatose Vulcan, his agitated body turned away.

"Hey there," she greeted gently, unconsciously speaking quietly in the sleeping alien's presence. She stood warily beside the partition, eyeing both the doctor's back and her injured ex-lover pensively, as if she were reluctant to step any closer.

Silence.

"I saw you come into the mess last night but you didn't stop by to eat," she continued cautiously, "Is anything the matter?"

McCoy turned his head sideways, giving Nyota a glimpse of his worn profile, before answering, "There are a lot of things wrong in the world right now," He heaved a heavy sigh and set his PADD down onto Spock's immobile leg, turning slowly towards her with a wash of exhaustion "I've got a case of near alcohol poisoning I can't file because it's my damn captain who nearly drank himself to death, I've got a mostly dead green-blooded elf on my damn recovery bed, I've got Sulu calling down every damn hour demanding for a time when Jim can be released and I'm just about to crack into my own damn whisky 'cause I can't take much more of this."

Nyota stood stunned, her eyes wide with concern, "Is there anything I can help you with Leonard? I still have an hour or so before I'm needed for duty and I can't see why I shouldn't be doing something when I can't sleep either way."

"Tell me about it," McCoy grumbled, "I haven't slept since they slammed this damn slab of dead weight onto my surgery table."

"Leonard!"

"Sorry Nyota," Bones eyed her apologetically, allowing a diminutive smile to grace his slender lips, "I know you dated him and all, but he was a pain in the ass to operate on."

Nyota let out a small giggle, "Vulcan physiology too complex for you?"

Bones let out a small harrumph and turned up his nose, "On the contrary _Lieutenant Uhura_, it was simply a challenge."

"It must have been a pretty frustrating challenge. We could hear your colourful language from the bridge."

"Very funny Nyota. Although if he complains about his stomach being in his abdomen and not up in his damn shoulder or wherever the hell it was, don't point the finger at me."

Their playful banter was interrupted by the whoosh of the doors of sickbay unto where Jim Kirk stumbled in, unaware and unabashed as he flung himself at the startled doctor, "Hay Bones! I'm not feelin' so swell! But, errr...that's nothin yer liquid spirits won't fix!"

McCoy eyed Uhura in a panic before registering what had just happened. Thinking fast, he quickly jerked his head to the side, indicating to the communications officer the empty hypospray resting on the treatment table a few feet away. Nodding, she grabbed it and held it behind her back, scuttling evasively towards McCoy's office to seek out the hypo she knew he would need.

"Yeah, liquid spirits Jim, right. How 'bout you come to my office and we'll share a whisky." McCoy said gruffly, grabbing the drunken, limp body that was clinging onto him and thrusting it forwards.

"Great! I knew you were deh guy to relys on..." Jim slurred brazenly as he staggered forwards, leaning heavily on the fuming doctor beside him, "Ish not that nasty scotch I stole from yer room last night right?"

"You stole _my_ scotch?!" Bones roared, flinging the sagging youth out in front of him. Jim braced himself on a wall and shot McCoy the most apologetic expression he could muster in his inebriated state.

"Ooh right! I wusn't supposed teh tell ya that!" Jim laughed out loud and continued to lurch towards the looming office like a sentient sack of potatoes. Bones, seething like a rabid animal, eyed Nyota from the window of his office and gave her a curt nod before shoving the drunken captain into the small enclosure, "So Bonesy! Where's duh booze?"

Uhura, with the appearance of a hunting tigress, bore down upon the captain from behind and stabbed him harder than what was necessary in the neck. Jim's eyes went immeasurably wide for a second before falling to a heap on the ground like a pile of dirty laundry.

"Nice job Lieutenant. You could make a good doctor one day." McCoy said, smirking with clear amusement because of the look on satisfaction on Nyota's face. Nyota laughed and flicked her ponytail with panache, giving McCoy her most beautiful grin.

"I'll leave the doctor stuff up to you. But if you ever need somebody to shove a needle into Jim's plastered neck, be sure to give me a shout."

They hauled him onto the couch in McCoy's office and shut the door behind them, hoping that no passerby in the sickbay would bear witness to the mess that was their captain, drooling and snoring like a dog-tired three year old. Uhura helped out supportively with the various tasks that needed doing in sickbay for a little while after, secretly enjoying the time she was able to spend with the doctor on duty.

When the clock struck 8:59 AM, Uhura bid Leonard farewell and strode up to the bridge with a small spring in her step. As long as Jim was under the watchful gaze of Dr. McCoy and not left to his own destructive devices, she knew that everything would be alright.

* * *

**Eight hours later...**

Jim awoke slowly, grogginess assailing him like a gargantuan tidal wave. He moaned and rolled over, smushing his head into the cushion of the couch he was laying on in an attempt to block the light from his eyes.

_Couch?_

Jim pressed his forearm to his eyes and allowed a small split to see out of, even though his eyes still felt like they were glued shut with cement. He cracked them open painfully and took a wary glance around at his surroundings, noticing that he was not where he had fallen asleep the night before. Wrenching himself up into a sitting position, he peeled his forearm from his face and tried to adjust his eyes to the blinding artificial light around him. He thought he heard a click and a few thumps from across the room but he couldn't quite tell if they were real or if it was just his pounding head, throbbing like a jackhammer in his hypersensitive ears.

A few seconds later, he got his answer.

"You're a bastard you know that? You take out all your damn anger on the people who just saved your sorry ass from ending up in the morgue and then you steal my damn scotch! And _then,_ you traipse into _my_ damn sickbay like it's the local bar and demand more of _my _damn scotch that you stole from _me_!"

"Ughh Bones..." Jim mumbled, "Stop yelling."

"No damnit! I won't stop yelling!" Bones roared, slamming his office door loudly behind him, "You've made an ass of yourself Jim! Uhura saw it today, the rest of your damn senior staff is talking about it, good God man! Get a grip on yourself! This isn't like the academy days anymore Jim! You've got a responsibility, the _damn_ responsibility of this _damn_ crew and if you fail, we all _die_. You hear that? _We. All. Die. _And how does that make you feel huh? You were drunker than a fish today, stumblin' in like you owned the damn place! Do you think you would've been able to save your crew if we had run into trouble? Klingons? Romulans? Nice one Jim, you're really shapin' up to be a good Captain."

"Stop Bones."

"I'm just getting started you egotistical moron! There are only so many times I can save your ass without the Federation getting suspicious! What am I going to say when they see some of my medication missing without a proper date of use on record? They're gonna get suspicious of me; they're going to think that I can't do my damn job! And when I get kicked off the Enterprise and onto some godforsaken far-flung colony, how're ya gonna to feel knowing that it was your damn fault that I got sent there?"

"Stop it Bones. Now."

"You're an idiot, you know that?" Bones slammed the PADD that had been in his hand onto his desk with a sickening crack, "You don't give a damn about anyone at all do you; no one except yourself."

"I care about this crew."

"To hell you care about this crew damnit! Your first officer is pretty much dead there, lyin' in a coma and you go and render yourself about as useful as your damn hobgoblin! You think you can just go around and sleep with random girls and drink away your miseries?"

Jim looked up from the floor startled, "How did you know about that?"

"Chapel heard the entire thing."

"Oh."

"Yeah, real great for you reputation right? I wonder how many people she's told about your lascivious ways. I wonder how the people who have _just_ stemmed some respect for you are taking it. 'He slept with the astrometrics lieutenant? I wonder how many more women he's made sluts out of' or how about 'Typical Jim Kirk, still sleeping with anything that moves' or 'And I thought he was maturing! Guess we were wrong'. Gossip is a dangerous thing Jim, you don't need me to tell you that, but I can't save your ass now."

Jim was silent; he turned his head solemnly and let his eyes fall back to the floor. He let his shoulders slump forwards as the burden of his accuser's words overtook him, giving him a feeling of dread that could be compared to no other. He heard McCoy sigh faintly above him and the weight of the doctor's body sink down onto the couch beside him but he didn't register the information; he was too caught up in his own mind to think otherwise.

"What the hell happened between you two Jim?" Bones asked quietly, nudging Jim gently with his shoulder. Jim ran his hands across his face and sighed, knowing that he couldn't keep the truth inside much longer; the guilt was killing him but the desire he felt was even worse.

"I...I don't know where to start."

"The beginnings always a good place."

Jim glanced sidelong at the doctor beside him and couldn't help but let a small smirk grace his striking features, "Gee, thanks Bones. Real helpful."

Jim turned his head away from his good friend beside him and rested his head in his hand. With his other hand, he ran his fingers through his unwashed, tousled hair and frowned when the action didn't relieve his suffering. His stomach churned nervously as he contemplated on what he would tell Bones, what he _could_ tell Bones without revealing the truth.

_He'd been acting his whole damn life..._

There was a slam and whoosh and before Jim could turn his head, the two words he had been dying to hear hit his ears like a hammer.

"He's awake!"

* * *

Here's my giant list of thank yous! I love you guys so much!

A giant thank you to: Peachly (Hope you enjoyed the extra heaping of angsty freaking out!), MirrorFlower and DarkWind (thanks for the feedback! I hope you enjoyed the chapter), MikoGoddess (I hope that didn't come off as begging! I just want more people to review all of the stories on this fandom! I see too many stories with 50 chapters and 6 reviews. Huzzah for character development!), SciFanGurl1990 (No worries! I'm glad you found my story and I hope you enjoy this chapter!), The Rivan Queen (Phew! I'm glad you think my Bones is even slightly decent; he's the character I have the most trouble writing!), Shatterwing (No worries! I'm glad you chose to review because your feedback was very helpful! And thank you for the compliment!), Aya Shiroi (Thank you for the compliment and the feedback! It is very much appreciated), kokomocalifornia (hope you got your fix of agnst in this chapter!), Baybreaq (holy guac! Your feedback was really indepth and totally helped me write Bone's freakout. Thank you so much!), neenabluegirl (sorry I didn't answer your questions in this one! Maybe next chapter? And thank you very much for the compliment!), starfire angel (thank you for the compliment! I'm glad you like my Kirk cause I always second guess myself with him), circa divide (Thank you so much! Your compliments are inspiring!), Kat3e (thanks for the bone! I'm happy that you didn't even care for her, that was kind of what I was trying to get across), Veglma (yeah...I'm sorry if I'm not explaining everything properly and you kind of only understand-ish; I tend to write pretty vague and I guess I have to work on that), Dilmn8 (your question will be answered soon!), YukinaAmonYoukai (thanks! I will!), Mila (Immature = Character development! He's supposed to be immature and grow from this experience and I'm glad that you understand that the agnst is for growth. AGNST! HOORAY! Thank you for your compliment!), CharitySaleChild (thank you for the compliment!), me (creative name! And critique my story please, not my author notes. Thanks!), Bubbly714 (all your predictions will be answered soon! Thanks!), Lanenkar (thanks for the feedback and compliments. They were quite helpful!) and wombleomlette (thanks for the compliment!).

Please review again you guys!

Also, are you an angst fan? If you are, then I would recommended that you read **Death and All His Friends** which is by me and is all about the angst Jim feels about the death of his father in a kind of surreal universe. Check it out and let me know what you think!

Love and fluff, Bront_ë_


	5. Chapter 5

Happy Thanksgiving fellow 'eh' say-ers!

Thank you so much to Mirror Flower and DarkWind (I'm glad you liked the Bones/Uhura madness thrown in there. It wasn't planned AT ALL but I think it spices the story up nicely), Bubbly714 (I'm glad it made you laugh! *fistpump!* ), bulletproofweeks (Yes...it will be quite interesting bwahhahaha!), neenabluegirl (Thank you for the compliment! I'm always so scared of writing Bones!), circa divide (I love you too!! Haha, your reviews are always deeply appreciated!), Stelmaria (Or will he still feel guilty...dun dun dunnnnnn!), knp10 (hooray guilty Jim!), swamud3a (I hope my reply was a good enough answer!), Dilmn8 (Bones is Bones! He's a crusty bitch with a mean monologue!), Veglma (Ohhh! Yay! Okay I understand now! And yay fellow Bones and Uhura bitch out supporter!), Lithien (thanks so much!) and kamena (aw come now, is reviewing that hard? Thank you for the compliments and the feedback! They're very much appreciated!)

Also, thanks to mou who reviewed two of my earlier chapters the other day.

Review please! I write faster because I know that you guys are waiting!

* * *

**Part Five**

For Jim, it felt as if the time/space continuum was throwing him for another inconceivable loop, where instants stood still like marble statues standing sentinel over abandoned graves. His heart thudded unsteadily in his chest, like a child on a drum kit; his body was fixed, rigid, unbending. He did not move when Bones seemed to soar from his seat on the couch in slow motion; he did not budge when Nurse Chapel ran after him like child running for cover. He did not stir at the sound of Dr. McCoy, barking orders like an auctioneer; he did not register when he heard the rough, rumbling baritone of a voice long thought departed.

The muscles in his stomach trembled weakly; what was he going to do now? What would Spock say?

Would he remember?

Would he recall?

Jim jumped to his feet and bee-lined it for sickbay's exiting doors, an escape route often travelled in different circumstances. But Jim wasn't running from the foul natured doctor this time; he was running out of _fear_.

He rushed down the narrow halls, skilfully manoeuvring around the oblivious crew that were filing down the tapered corridors. He paid no heed to the strange looks cast his way, his mind lost on a face that was stuck in his mind like concrete.

He stumbled into his quarters and let the doors shut behind him with a satisfying thud. He leant against the cool, smooth metal and let out a breath of relief, slumping down onto his haunches and letting his hands fall limply to his sides. He felt his chest rise and fall rhythmically and he consciously made himself listen to the pattern, just to give his weary mind something to focus on.

When Bones called an hour later to his quarters to tell him the good news, Jim didn't answer. Bones prodded for some time before getting the hint that perhaps he wasn't there. With reluctant acceptance, Bones closed the connection and Jim revelled in the silence.

_Bzzt._

"_Hey Jim? I know you're in there_," a snotty voice boomed from his comm. _"The hobgoblin wants to talk to you. He says it's important."_

Stalemate.

"_I swear Jim, if you don't answer me-" _

"_Perhaps he's sleeping Doctor."_

Silence. _"I swear Jim, you better be sleeping or I'm going to-"_ Pause. _"Hrmph. Your hobgoblin has better hearing than I thought."_

Bones cut the connection again and Jim lifted his head and swallowed painfully, his throat parched and his mind weakening. He couldn't remember when he last ate a meal, save his liquid feast the evening before, but his stomach rumbled at him furiously, begging to be satisfied.

Pulling himself off his ass, he got to his feet and lurched towards his replicator, fumbling with the complex machinery, "Why isn't this damn thing voice activated yet..." he muttered sourly, running his fingers through his sullied hair. He blundered through the catalogue before finally settling on a dish and watched it blankly as it materialized onto the platter.

He plopped down onto his bed with his dish on his lap forcefully, his mind still frozen in the same process loop that had been running rampant through his head for hours. He chomped through a piece of his lukewarm lasagna without really tasting it, his mind lost on larger concepts, on corpulent notions.

_What will happen now?

* * *

_

McCoy paced like a caged lion along the length of his office, constantly glancing outside the tainted windows for any signs of movement from the pointy-eared form still laying in recovery a few metres away. Spock was semi-conscious at least at the moment, his mind off course on some meditational thing that Bones didn't want to admit that he didn't understand.

He picked up a PADD and went over it for the four hundredth time that hour; vital functions? Check. Motor functions? Mostly. Irritating facade? Bones sighed; he liked Spock a hell of a lot better when he was in a coma.

"Now now Leonard," a sly voice purred from behind him, "Your shift ended three quarters of an hour ago." Bones spun around and nearly jumped out of his skin, finding himself face to face with ebony eyes and a clever, wily grin.

"Jesus Nyota, you're gonna give me a damn heart attack if you keep this up." Bones yelped quietly, allowing a hint of a smirk to glisten his features.

"Will I have to perform CPR on you doctor?" Nyota said with a smirk, drawing a lithe finger beneath McCoy's stubbled chin. The good doctor gulped audibly, struggling valiantly with the urge to groan.

"Err...yes...I..." Bones trailed off, losing his train of thought as a pair of chocolate hands led him away from his office and out into the hallways. He trailed behind her like a lost puppy without quite registering it, content to just watch the gentle flick of her ponytail as she strode through the corridors like a model on a catwalk. Once and a while she would turn her head and flash him a devious grin, leaving him nearly drooling for another fix.

They strode into the mess together and put a little space between them before settling down beside Pavel and Sulu who were deeply caught up in another one of their typical gossip sessions. Nyota sighed in friendly exasperation and smiled at the still half drooling Bones sitting across from her.

"Did you here about ze keptin Nyota?" Pavel asked fervently, taking a spoonful of yoghurt and putting it into his mouth. He made a disgusted face, "Hikaru, I don't know how you eat zis stuff!"

"It's good for you Pav!" Sulu replied, shovelling his own strawberry yoghurt onto his tongue, "He's back to his old ways of course. I'm not surprised."

Nyota raised a sculpted eyebrow, "Don't tell me-"

"Adie, from Astrometrics." Sulu blurted eagerly, stirring his pink snack in a nonchalant approach.

"What?" Nyota exclaimed, her expression on the verge of being appalled, "I've been telling her for months to get over him..." she trailed off.

And then it clicked.

Being a linguistics expert was more than just being able to decipher difficult foreign quadrant languages; she was also attuned to the language of the body and of the mind in a manner long beyond expertise. And what she had saw and what she had heard and what she had felt from the irrational, incomprehensible, intolerable and yet deceivingly intelligent human being called Jim Kirk was all coming together into one catastrophic package that was confoundedly impossible, but was happening.

"Spock."

The three men surrounding her wore matching expressions of confusion, "What?"

Nyota faltered, her voice caught in her throat, "What?"

Bones eyed her hesitantly and with suspicion, "Did you just say the hobgoblin's name?"

Nyota coughed awkwardly into her napkin and looked away, "Erm, of course not."

"Hrm." Bones grunted warily, turning his head back towards Sulu and Pavel. His stomach churned uneasily at the thought of Nyota whispering the hobgoblin's name so passionately and allowed himself the liberty of watching her sidelong with suspicion.

"Anyway," Sulu interjected to fill the awkward silence, "How's your patient doing now that were on the subject?"

Bones groaned and rolled his eyes, "He's back to his usual jovial self. A bundle of goddamn sunshine."

"When will he be able to come back to the bridge?"

"Give him a week Sulu. He's still in rough shape."

"And Kirk?"

"Probably tomorrow. I don't know, maybe the next." Bones replied evasively, turning his head to the side to stretch his neck.

"It gets awfully boring without ze captain on ze bridge." Pavel remarked quietly, playing absently with the syrup soaked waffle on his plate, "I hope zat he gets back to normal soon."

Sulu nodded and swiped a strawberry off of Chekov's cooling waffle, "So do I Pav, so do I."

A few hours after dinner, Nyota found herself scampering down the halls with expert steps, balanced in her strides despite the extra three inches her midnight boots added to her height. She reached a turbolift and stood without saying a word, the plan she had been formulating catching up with her.

She went up to the bridge first and popped her head out of the lift, scanning the expanse for the familiar head of blond, tousled hair. When she couldn't find what she sought, she retracted back into the small pod and ordered it down a few floors. She strode out and down the halls, finding herself in the rec room not two minutes later in search of those mischievous cerulean eyes peering out from behind some pavilion while murdering Chopin with a violin. Her search ran up empty.

Her pace slowed as she combed her mind for another location. _If I were Jim Kirk, where would I be?_ She shivered at the thought.

She found herself in the observatory, the science labs, engineering, in front of his quarters, nearly every nook and cranny of the ship within the next half hour without any luck of finding that damn impish smirk anywhere in the vicinity. She was about to retreat back to her own quarters in defeat when a thought toppled her like a ton of bricks.

Like a bat out of hell, she shot around to the closest turbolift and whispered, "Level Six. Sickbay."

* * *

Jim stood like a grievous sentinel across the expanse of the nearly vacant sickbay, staring anxiously at the sleeping Vulcan from across the sterile room. He was unable to move any closer, as if there were some uncontrollable element that kept him from taking a step forward. Instead, he was content to stare at the napping figure before him, awkwardly propped up on pillows to facilitate his breathing after such a complex upper body surgery.

He had not shaved for four and a half days and he ran his hand over his cheeks and his chin thoughtfully, wondering absently if Vulcans grew facial hair or if only Spock did, because of his mixed heritage. He tried to see the details of his pallid face from across the substantial room but found that he couldn't really tell.

Spock stirred quietly, tossing his head gently to the left and letting out a constricted breath that still sounded a little strained. Jim bit his tongue and felt his own chest constrict painfully, as if he were sharing the same pain as the man before him. He wanted to run his fingers through his dirty blond hair but found that his limbs were frozen in place at his sides, not willing to move, just wanting to wait.

Only his chest moved; it pushed rhythmically up and down, breathing to the erratic beat of his heart. He hadn't done any sort of physical activity for days and yet he felt completely out of breath as if he had just ran a lengthily marathon across the American nation. His fingers tingled longingly, his thoughts lost on a memory that seemed more like a dream. It was foggy, yet undeniably _real_. He wouldn't deny himself that.

The beast that had been clutching him in its iron grasp let go of him suddenly and Jim stumbled forward, his limbs working without a conscious thought from his brain. He reached out and rested a trembling hand on the edge of the rigid recovery bed, hoping sincerely that Spock wouldn't be able to feel the nerves that racked through his body like a metal comb. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself before he lost it completely, before he slammed his lips against the pale, yielding ones beneath him.

He let his eyes graze his sharpened features, the length of his jawbone to the tips of his ear, his forehead and down the bridge of his nose to his green tinged lips. He could barely refrain from skimming his fingers along the tough sinews that stood out in his neck and following them until they ran along his clavicle, down his torso, across his abdomen. He took a sharp intake of breath and shut his eyes again in an attempt to clear his troubled mind, fogged up with sticky memoirs of errant hands and eager lips. Over and over again he told his body to leave, to forget every memory of that mind meld gone haywire but it was too obstinate, too headstrong to listen to his dwindling wits. He couldn't stop himself as he reached down to pull his tunic over his hands; he couldn't stop himself when he clasped Spock's forearm with one hand and his limp fingers with the other. He couldn't stop the rush of emotion when he splayed those adept fingers and pressed them to his cheek, his temple and his forehead in one fluid, painstaking motion.

_When he opened his eyes he was facing the horizon along the ocean and he toppled backwards from the rush of vicious wind that flew at him from the ominous clouds above. The once grassy knoll he had been standing on had turned into a rocky, treacherous cliff that threatened to throw him off and into the crashing waves below. He lurched back to his feet and peered fearfully over the precipice and down towards the clashing swells beneath him; he wondered anxiously as to what would happen to him if he fell in._

_He turned away from the cliff and began to walk down the same path he had before, stopping every once and a while after stepping on a sharp splinter of rock to nurse the incision in the tough under layer of his foot. He hobbled painfully down the slope until he reached the sandy grounds beneath, graciously letting his tender feet sink into the temperate sand as if it were a pillow. He wiggled his toes and let the fine, sandy soil twist and coil up between them; he briefly and conveniently forgot that he was worming his toes around Spock's subconscious._

_He made his way towards the shore line and stood upon a smooth rock of schist, watching the oncoming thunderstorm approach threateningly from the East. The opposing wind tousled his hair like creeping fingers nestling in his blond locks and massaging his scalp soothingly; Jim closed his eyes and let the sensation run over him like a rainstorm, soaking every inch of his butterscotch skin._

_And it did._

_He opened his eyes and smiled up at the weeping sky, revelling in the drenched feeling of his clothes against his skin. It was not a cool rain but rather a warm and inviting shower, like laying in a calming hot tub surrounded by snow. He threw back his head and stretched out his arms, laughing quietly to himself in a carefree crusade, declaring to the world around him the real James Kirk, the bona-fide boy behind the illusory mask._

_"Jim?"_

_His cobalt eyes snapped open and locked onto the soaked figure before him, his eyes wide, his voice lost. The silent silhouette was only a few feet away with his arms at his sides, his posture weak, his head lowered and defeated. A faint waiver of light hit his vanquished face and Jim caught a sharpened glimpse of the striking human feature that always gave him away._

_Those eyes..._

Jim ripped Spock's arm off of his face and stumbled backwards, his eyes wide and panicked in alarm and dread. Spock's eyes gaped back at him, equally shocked and taken aback, his Vulcan steady broken carelessly. Jim did the only thing he thought he could do-

He ran.

He spun on his heels and shot out towards the doors of sickbay, shoving Nyota Uhura aside just as she burst through them. Without a second thought, he tore down the hallways in search of an escape, of any escape at all.

He needed to get away.

Nyota picked herself off the wall she had been tossed against and reeled forwards towards Spock without a pang of conscience. She cleared the partition around Spock's biobed and screeched to a halt, her eyes wide with surprise.

Spock was lying upright and staring at his left hand as if it were the most fascinating specimen he had ever seen. He spread his fingers with his right hand and grazed them thoughtfully, completely unaware of the audience standing before him.

"Fascinating."

* * *

Ah...I love a good cliff hanger.

More to come! Review my fabulous readers! I will love you insanely if you do!

Love and fluff,

Bronte


	6. Chapter 6

Hooray! Chapter six already! I'm loving this story; I love writing it, I love the in depth and inspiring reviews I get and I love the banter that sprouts from it all!

Speaking of reviews...A huge thank you to: circa divide (Thank you so much for your beautiful compliment. Your words are so inspiring!), Bubbly714 (I am the queen of all cliffhangers bwahaha!), swamud3a (I already replied to you but thank you again! Your review was very helpful), knp10 (That's the basis of this story pretty much; Jim is a coward and a dumbass! Woo!), MirrorFlower and DarkWind (I wonder if he'll talk to Spock in this chapter...dundundunnnnn), neenabluegirl (Bwahahahaha!!! Cliffies!!!), applepie1989 (thank you so much!), apophis (Thank you!), Ebbagull (Thank you plenty!), Aya Shiroi (Thanks a bunch!!), bulletproofweeks (uhura will play a very important part in the plot and in the subplot veeery soon), Stelmaria (nope! You'll just have to wait!), Veglma (rofl I love your singing! Yay Uhura/Bones yaya!), Mandy (me NEITHER), Mandy again (thank you so much!), kamena (our banter makes me giggle!), mia-piin (hope my reply answered your concerns) and Songbird Severine (I promise you that I will honour your request because I agree full-heartedly! I despise man-cheese; it's not realistic and it would hurt me to write it!)

I was chatting with swamud3a and I thought I would clear up two things a few of you were confused about in chapter five.

1. The weird similes used when the story involved Jim was a device used so that the reader would feel as scattered as Jim when reading the story. The comparisons make sense and they don't make sense at the same time so the reader has to re-read them and thus becomes puzzled, getting into the mood of the setting. A few authors have used this device and I thought I would try it out; I think it worked pretty well!

2. Spock's mindscape = wet vs. dry imagery. If you've done grade twelve English, then you've heard of this. In chapter five, Jim spends most of his time near the ocean in Spock's mind and not the desert sands. This signifies his unconscious urge for their strained relationship to grow (with water we live) instead of wither and die (without water we're toast). There's a lot of other things behing Spock's mindscape but I'd rather have you think about it and hypothesize; it's quite a complex setting.

On with chapter six! This one sets up the big sha-blam that's going down really soon! I'm so excited to hear back from you guys! Please review and enjoy!

* * *

**Part Six  
**

_"Mr. Spock, you are hereby relieved of duty until you are deemed fit by both Dr. McCoy and myself. Until then, you are dismissed."_

Those unforgiving words echoed over and over again in his mind like a broken record player, like a crying infant unwilling to fall asleep. Jim had been lying in bed sleeplessly for hours now, ignoring McCoy's constant calls to his quarters. Jim had changed the override code, wanting absolute solitude and the good doctor wasn't particularly happy about being locked out of Jim's refuge.

"Jim, the hobgoblin's in damn near perfect heal-"

Jim's arm swung over heavily towards the comm. link. _Click_.

"Jim, if you don't start answering me damnit I'll-"

_Click._

"I swear Jim-"

_Click._

"Jim-"

_Click._

"Arrrrrg!!!!"

He let that one carry on a little bit only because the sound was amusing; he allowed himself a small, entertained smirk to grace his frowning features despite the wearisome situation he was trapped inside. Then he turned the signal off and kept his finger on the small button so that McCoy couldn't get through at all, allowing that peace and quiet Jim had been fruitlessly seeking for a while.

* * *

The day after Jim's futile escape, he returned to duty as captain of the starship Enterprise and tried his best to convey his usual air of luminance and carefree fun. It worked for the most part, with the exception of his linguistics lieutenant, who continued to scowl at him sourly for the days following. She rarely addressed him as they continued on course towards the Deia system in search of deuterium quarries for extraction and he found himself resenting her hostility each moment that passed; he wasn't sure how long he could keep his head cool if she kept this up. But even the most naive of the crew members couldn't miss the troubled frown that painted itself on Jim's ample lips every time he sat down to think or to address the science officer on duty.

Sulu and Chekov looked over at each other every once and a while and found themselves with matching facial expressions more than a few times. It hadn't taken much to put two and two together after Nyota's random outburst at dinner that night; obviously their captain and his first officer were having some sort of complication.

"I'll wager twenty credits on Spock," Sulu said to Chekov as they strolled down to the mess together one evening on the night before the Vulcan would be fit to report for duty. He had been expelled from sickbay that morning and sent to his quarters for meditation and preparation for the next day under strict orders not to leave.

"Hikaru!" Chekov exclaimed in shock, "You don't really think dat zey will have another fight?"

"Of course I do. The captain's been planning it all week."

"How do you know? He looked wery upset to me."

"He was thinking about how to beat him, obviously."

"But what if zey aren't fighting? What if zey are secret lovers or somezing?" Chekov asked quietly, his eyes wide and sparkling with epiphanic curiosity. Sulu barked a laugh and rolled his eyes, clapping his young friend on the shoulder amicably.

"You have way too much imagination Pavel. I'd give you all my credits _and_ I'd eat my uniform if that ever happens."

Nyota spotted the two of them as they entered the mess and pushed McCoy aside so that they could make room for them. Bones grunted in protest but obliged anyway, taking a quick moment to run his calloused hand against the silky surface of her thigh. She grinned at him sidelong and threw him a wink with a sly quirk of her eyebrow before putting on her serious face as Chekov and Sulu slid into their chairs.

"So Nyota, who're you betting on?" Sulu asked, opening his container of strawberry yoghurt and setting the lid aside, "The odds are 2:1 on Spock."

"What wager?" McCoy said gruffly, eying the helmsman suspiciously; the last thing he wanted to do was rearrange Spock's insides _again._

"Ze fight of course! Haven't you heard?" Chekov interjected brightly, "Sulu tinks zat ze Keptin and Spock are going to have zis big fight on ze bridge!"

"A fight? Goddamnit, really?" Bones growled, pressing his fingers to his temples and massaging them roughly. _Can't Jim stay out of sickbay for longer than a week?_ He thought sourly to himself.

"Lighten up doctor!" Chekov said exuberantly, "It will be wery exciting to watch I'm sure!"

"Sure, real excitin', especially when Jim's head gets punched in so hard that his brains comes squirting out his ears."

Chekov made a disgusted face, "I'm sure Spock won't take it zat far."

"I don't know Pav," Sulu said, stirring his yoghurt worriedly, "Kirk has a knack for pissing people off. I mean really, if he can piss off a Vulcan enough to kill, imagine the other things he could be capable of!"

"Really Hikaru, Spock wasn't actually going to kill him."

"Of course he was. I've never seen his eyes so deadly; if he could shoot lasers out of his eyes, Kirk would look like Swiss cheese right now."

Chekov gasped, "You did _not_ steal my wintage comic book again Hikaru!"

The helmsman shrugged, trying to suppress the smirk that was playing on his lips, "I just have it for safe keeping! I didn't want you to lose it."

"I've been looking for it everywhere! Please don't tell me zat you left it with your plants! It will be ruined!

"Shut up, both of you," Bones said roughly, "When are they having this supposed fight?"

"Sometime tomorrow I guess," Sulu replied, silently relieved that the subject had been changed, "I'm guessing halfway through the shift. The tension will be so tight, I can feel it already!"

"Hrmf," McCoy answered curtly, mussing his brown locks in his hands, "Let's hope it never comes to that."

Uhura left quickly after that, finding herself walking faster and faster towards the quarters of the only Vulcan on the ship. She waited outside his sliding doors for a moment before quickly stabbing at the button in haste, unwilling to be seen outside the daunting doorway. The last time she had been in here was under much different circumstances and she tried her best not to think about them.

"Come in," came a steady voice and the doors slid open ceremoniously, allowing the linguistics lieutenant to enter. Spock had his cloaked back to her, sitting cross-legged in front of a strong smelling candle that filled the air around them in a thick perfume of herbs she did not recognize. She inhaled deeply and immediately felt the anxiousness wash off of her and onto the ground, coiling at her feet and slinking off like a devious snake. She took soft steps towards Spock's side, losing her train of thought in the subtle flicker of the flame sprouting from jet black porcelain lamp.

"I will be frank lieutenant, I was not expecting your presence this evening," Spock remarked dryly, his eyes still closed in pre-empted meditation. Nyota swallowed uncomfortably and took a subtle step back, unconsciously feeling the disturbed aura surrounding him.

"I'll be frank with you as well commander; whatever the hell is going on between you two is affecting the rest of the crew as well."

"I am unfamiliar with the conflict you speak of."

"There. You admitted it."

"Clarify."

"I didn't say there was a conflict. You got there by yourself, which means that there is something going on between you two."

"Who is this other individual in which you speak?"

Nyota crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one leg, shooting out her hip in a defiant position, "Don't play dumb with me Spock. I know you better than you would like to admit."

Spock released the Vulcan equivalent of a sigh, "I am not lying lieutenant. I am incapable of verbal dishonesty in any way."

"There. You admitted it again."

"Clarify."

"I told you to stop playing dumb, not to stop lying Spock," Nyota said, releasing her arms and taking a step forward, "The ship is in an uproar, betting credits and one hundred and fifty year old scotches on which one of you will win the fight you guys are supposedly going to have on the bridge tomorrow. Now what the hell happened between the two of you for the crew to come to that?"

Spock opened his eyes and stared into Nyota's chocolate ones; his gaze just about knocked her over, "Lieutenant, your concerns are duly noted."

"That's it Spock? You're not going to come out and say it?"

"Say what, lieutenant?"

"What is with you? Since when have you called me lieutenant when we're not on the bridge?"

Spock closed his eyes again and settled back into a comfortable sitting position, "Your presence is no longer welcome lieutenant. If you would excuse yourself, I must return to my meditations to prepare for duty."

"I'm not leaving Spock. Not until I get some answers. I don't want your petty arguments to get in the way of-"

"Petty arguments? Your deficiency of information has corrupted your common sense Nyota. I expected more from you. Clearly, I was mistaken."

"What has gotten into you?" Spock quirked his eyebrow questioningly and Nyota heaved a sigh, "You know very well what I mean Spock."

Spock snapped his eyes open and his glare contradicted the cold edge in his voice; his eyes seemed almost pleading somehow, finally revealing the inner struggle Nyota had been fishing for this entire time. She let out the breath she had been holding in anticipation that entire time and knelt down in front of him, careful to keep the short hem of her dress in proper parameters and reluctant to distract the troubled Vulcan before her.

"What happened to you in that cave Spock?" she said quietly, following the gaze of his eyes as he looked away, "What happened between you and Kirk?"

"It is..."Spock trailed off, loosing himself in the flicker of the candlelight in the dimly lit room. He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, letting the overwrought muscles in his back release and relax, "...a long narrative."

"I have all night Spock." Nyota crooned sardonically, shifting her hip to one side so that her long, velvety legs splayed out beside her gracefully. She leant her weight onto one arm and dipped her head to the side, preparing for a story long overdue to be told.

"The captain...he was able to...to penetrate my mind without my knowledge."

Nyota thought she may have lost her jaw, "What?"

"My sentiments exactly." Spock replied dryly, quirking his eyebrow condescendingly.

Nyota ignored it, "But how is that even remotely possible?"

"I am not entirely certain. I am not entirely certain of anything at all at the moment."

"Have you spoken to Kirk?"

"No."

"And why not?"

"He has been...avoiding me."

"And you're just accepting that as an answer? I figured that you would be a little more assertive than that."

"I have not had the opportunity to seek his answer, as I have been in my quarters meditating all day."

Nyota looked at him incredulously and offered him a little half grin, "And have you been able to meditate at all?"

The Vulcan's sullen expression provided the answer.

"I didn't think so."

"I will locate him tomorrow and settle this... predicament permanently."

"Please don't hurt him though. I don't think McCoy wants to stick his neck back together again like last time." Nyota said, smiling coyly at the melancholy eyes staring back at her.

"I will do my best." Spock nearly spat, dragging his eyes from Nyota's chocolate ones back to the iridescent flame before him, sparkling vivaciously like an exploding supernova. He was more than well aware of the current relationship between McCoy and Nyota and he found himself feeling more and more resentful of the cantankerous doctor every time he was mentioned. His current abhorrence was certainly mutual when it came to the rapport between the doctor and himself and this new curveball was undoubtedly making things worse. Spock breathed out quietly and estimated as to how long he could keep his cool around the doctor now without ripping off his extremities and throwing them halfway across the alpha quadrant; needless to say, Spock wasn't feeling very emotionally sound as of late.

Nyota gathered and raised herself from her sitting position, knowing that their conversation was over and that he needed to be alone. She let her fingers softly graze his shoulder as she walked past him and offered a quick goodnight before leaving the intoxicating room and heading towards her quarters. The non-perfumed, regulated air of the Enterprise nearly knocked her over like a ton of bricks as she made her way towards her room, not realizing just how drunk she had been on the exotic incense. She hobbled into her bedroom and snuggled into her bed sheets without even taking her boots off.

Half an hour later, Bones traipsed into Nyota's room with box of playing cards bouncing in his hands. He walked over to her crumpled body and found her sound asleep, smiling candidly in her dreaming state. He reached around her body and tugged her duvet up and around her, tucking her in so that she didn't get a cold. He was about to reach down and kiss her on the forehead when he caught the scent of some foul herb off her and frowned; he had smelt that crap before. Growling furiously, he threw himself upright and stomped out of her quarters, hell-bent on killing something...or someone.

* * *

Dun dun dunnnnnn...

So we've got a plot and a sub-plot going on right now and I would really like your feedback on that. Do you guys mind the sub-plot? Does it bother you? Do you think it takes away from the story or adds to it?

I can't wait to hear from you guys! You are the best reviewers I've ever had! :)

Love and fluff,

Bront_ë_


	7. Chapter 7

So I definitely took a big leap with this chapter; we get to see what's going on in a character's head that we haven't yet gotten to taste. We get to visit this on a whole new level and I hope you guys enjoy this because I sure did writing it.

Thank you too: MirrorFlower and DarkWind (thank you for you reviews every chapter! I always look forward to hearing from you), Bubbly714 (thanks Allie! Nobody can catch a break in this story bwahaha!), circa divide (hehehe I know! Spock is obvious like that), MikoGoddess (maybe they'll talk today...thanks for your opinion on Bones/Uhura subplot. His anger is important to the plot which was kind of why this sub-relationship developed. I hope you don't mind!), knp10 (I'm glad you like all the little parts! They're my favourite to write), Veglma (hahaha I love your speculations! We'll see!), applepie1989 (maybe they will, maybe they won't...), Tango and Pomegranate (Thank you so much! Your compliments make me all tingly inside! I adore stories that make me re-read parts over and over again and I'm so happy that you read mine the same way! Eee!), Osa (hope you enjoy the ending once its finished), bulletproofweeks (thank you! Hooray big confrontations!), kamena (I hope your inner fan girl squees a thousand squees in this chapter!), swamud3a (I'm glad you liked my communications play. Thank you for your compliments because I'm working my ass off at being realistic!), Shatterwing (I'm glad you found it and like it! Hooray anticipation! Hooray hooray!), Stelmaria (SMACKDOOOOOWN!), SeverusPotterSnape (thanks for thereview! I'm glad you like it!) and calipalace (holy crap! Thank you so much for your insanely inspiring compliment! I'm so honoured that you consider my story your favourite! You're welcome Courtney times a million!)

Sit back, relax and get ready for the action!

* * *

**Part 7**

0900 hours.

A sea of red, blue and gold flooded from the turbolift and onto the bridge eagerly, relieving the night shift crew with unusual zest. The graveyard shift stood relieved and jadedly sauntered off the bridge and towards their quarters for a well deserved sleep and a hearty meal to refuel for the next long night.

0905 hours.

The captain strode onto the bridge, his lips pulled into a thin, tight line and his eyes creased at the temples. His gait was tense and his shoulders seemed almost immovable, barely following through like his usual self-assured swagger. His uniform was creased and his one boot wasn't even tied up properly, making a strange squeaking noise as he moved across the spotless deck towards his gleaming command throne. His hair was mussed, more than usual, and the bags beneath his stormy eyes told a story of sleepless nights and ceaseless thoughts of bad things to come.

0907 hours.

Spock slunk in almost noiselessly and took his place at the science station without a word. He started scanning the nearing system dutifully in an attempt to drag his mind from more personal matters; his efforts were futile.

0915 hours.

Uhura scrambled onto the bridge with unusual gracelessness, stumbling into her chair and whispering hasty apologies to the blond youth who didn't hear them. She threw her earphones on and listened deafly, rubbing her temples like she was getting over a bad hangover. She felt like she had drunk an entire forty ounce bottle of whisky in five minutes last night and couldn't remember why; all she knew was that Spock was there at the time and this made her more uneasy then she would have liked to admit.

0922 hours.

Sulu threw Chekov a cheeky smirk and sent the Russian adolescence a message that made him scowl and stick his tongue out. Pavel had bet twenty credits on Kirk the night before after Sulu had convinced him to a double or nothing clause; Chekov didn't admit to not knowing a thing about betting systems (except insisting that it was invented in Russia) and had spent most of the early morning researching it in the ship's databases.

0934 hours.

Nyota jerked awake at the incoming message gong that came from her station and hurriedly wiped the bit of drool that was collecting on the edge of her mouth. She quickly looked around her to see if anyone had noticed and self consciously hunched her shoulders with humiliation; she _never_ fell asleep on the job.

0946 hours.

Spock flattened a piece of misbehaving hair near his temple, watching his reflection in one of the panels displaying the ships synaptic relays. It flipped up again stubbornly like the wing of a bird, a Terran animal he found himself fascinated by during his rare excursions out of San Francisco. He pressed down on it and watched it pop up again, regrettably finding himself suppressing his anger, again.

0953 hours.

Chekov eyed Sulu anxiously, nearly itching out of his chair because the tension was killing him. Sulu played it cool, teasing Chekov wordlessly for his impatience but inwardly he was experiencing the same agitation. He just wanted _it_ to happen; he wanted to just get it over with so things would get back to normal (whatever normal was) on the Enterprise.

1128 hours.

Nyota dragged her heel against the floor restlessly, her insides churning nervously like a buoy stuck in a hurricane. Butterflies were having a rampant demolition derby in her stomach, leaving her with the sensation of nausea taking over most of her senses. She knew with one trip to sickbay her nausea would go away and she would be able to perform her duties admirably as she had always done, but the horribly cryptic message the chief medical officer had sent her was keeping her from moving from her seat at all.

1231 hours.

Jim hadn't moved for an hour and a half and had said nothing for even longer; he wasn't pestering Chekov incessantly for their estimated time of arrival like a six year old child on a road trip to Walt Disney World. He wasn't stalking the bridge like a caged animal, poking fun at the crew members and making unrealistic claims about himself that lightened the mood and did miraculous things for the morale of the crew. He was just sitting there, staring at the streaking stars like they were the most interesting thing in the universe, captivated by their magnificence and their colourless sheen. Chekov found himself staring at them himself, trying to figure out what was so fascinating about it.

1309 hours.

Spock took a deep breath and let it out slowly through his nose, closing his eyes in an attempt to centre himself. He tried to mentally capture a flickering candle in his mind and concentrate on it, hoping vaguely that it would help him shake the apprehensive feeling that had been growing on his skin like a diseased mould for the past four hours. He hadn't felt like this for a long, _long_ time but refused to think about it; he wouldn't reconsider the past or his childhood when it had no direct relevance to the present.

1400 hours.

Jim twitched; it started in his fingers and it ran up his arms, through his shoulders, along his rugged jaw line, down his spine and through his legs to his toes like an electric current and he knew immediately what it meant. Adrenaline coursed through him like venom; the only thing he could hear in his ears was the heavy pounding of his heart, throbbing like the swell of a thousand African drums. He rose to his feet and tore his eyes from the view screen in front of him, turning in slow motion to face the man behind him who was staring back at Jim with an unfathomable emotion barely contained in his eyes. Spock rose to his feet and they locked eyes once and for all, never leaving, never ceasing.

The crew stirred.

Without a word, Jim turned towards his ready-room and Spock followed automatically, reeling from what he had seen in those eyes; disorder, uncertainty, worry_. _At the loss of eye contact, he collected himself and pensively hoped Jim would create a struggle just so he could harness Jim's worry and watch it again.

_He wanted it_. _He wanted him._

The doors closed behind Spock and he watched the silhouette of the captain remain motionless, his back turned to him and his face pointing downwards. Spock felt captivated to stay motionless as well, hoping he could fight the urge to throw Kirk across the room and watch him cry out in unharnessed anger.

_He wanted it. He wanted him._

Spock let his eyes graze the subtle profile of Jim's well-built figure; his towering legs, his sculpted shoulders and forearms, the way his hip bones protruded almost made him seem vulnerable. He watched the way his muscles seemed to hum with anticipation, as if they knew of Spock's uncontrollable intentions, as if they could read him like a book. Spock felt his lips curl into a subtle snarl; it felt foreign to his slender lips but it pleasured him in a way that was twisted beyond his knowledge.

This wasn't his time and he knew it; the Vulcan ritual he hoped would never happen to him wasn't due for another few years. He wished it were though; it would give him some sort of excuse when he made a Jim sized hole in the wall of the Enterprise.

Jim felt the sudden anger slice him through like a knife in the dark; his vision went red and his heart thrummed like a drum roll, pounding viciously in his ears and clouding his mind. It was like a sickness had come over him, an emotional breakdown of sorts, pumping testosterone and adrenaline through his body like a narcotic in veins. He couldn't suppress it; he had to attack.

It was like a _fever_.

Time moved in slow motion; Jim spun around without warning, the blue of his eyes darkened like the depths of the oceans. They glittered malevolently, but without malice, as he slammed the taller man into the wall with a force that could rival his own. Spock stood stunned for a moment before reacting, tearing the captain roughly off his body and against the desk that took up the majority of the room with a skidding thud. Spock felt the feral snarl in his chest before he heard it as he strode over to close in on his prey, trapping it between his inescapable grasp.

Then he was gone.

Gold clad arms wrenched him around the neck from behind and threw his centre of gravity off kilter, throwing his sideways with Kirk in tow. Spock braced himself against a wall and tried to flip the leech off of him but Jim's grip was too strong. Jim hefted himself onto a chair and flung himself off the wall, rocketing Spock forward towards the desk unexpectedly. As he hit the wooden desk, he curled his head downwards, effectively pitching Jim off of his back and across the desk onto the ground on the other side. Spock leaped across the desk himself with animalistic grace and landed overtop of the sprawled human beneath him, vulnerable and at his mercy.

Jim smiled.

At an unfathomable speed, Jim kicked his legs out and targeted the back of Spock's knees, sending the Vulcan keeling forwards over top of the spread-eagled human and onto the ground. Jim sprung from his position and landed above Spock with his hands pressing down against the Vulcan's forearms. With all the strength he could muster, Jim kept him there despite Spock's physical protests and pressed his knees into the nerve above Spock's knees, keeping them immovable and cut off from circulation.

"Stop...fighting...Spock..." Jim said through gritted teeth, lowering himself so the words were spoken near the sensuous curve and peak of his pointed ear. Spock's head twisted to the side and locked eyes with the gnashing blond above him, panting and perspiring with exertion. Spock watched as he ran his tongue against the edges of his teeth before parting his lips entirely and gulping a deep breath, letting it out against the sinewy curves of Spock's neck. He shuddered and tried to control the untamed urges that racked his body like a damned virus.

"Why...did you..." Spock managed to spit out, dragging his eyes from Jim's lips back to his sapphire eyes, captivated by their endless depths. Jim pulled back slightly and Spock felt his abdominal muscles tighten against his leg; he could smell the fear off of Jim's butterscotch skin, glittering faintly in the dim lights of his damaged ready-room.

"I had to." Jim replied simply, his eyes wide as he gazed back into Spock's chestnut ones for some sort of reaction, for anything. Dread raced through his veins like wildfire and his muscles tensed up unconsciously, readying themselves for the fight they knew would happen.

Spock snarled and rolled them over so that he was on top, pinning the blond youth to the floor like the prey that he was. His vision was dimming, turning red at the corners, and he knew that he couldn't be stopped.

_He wanted it. He wanted him._

"Get off of him you ugly green blooded bastard!" bellowed a familiar gruff voice just in time for Spock to get a steel toed kick to the head. Spock was sent flying to the side and smashed into a wall, falling to a graceless heap on the floor, "Get up you pointy eared freak!"

Spock raised his head and shook it out as if he were trying to rid water from his ears. He was disoriented; the red haze from his vision was gone and he had to skid out of the way to dodge the oncoming boot flying at his face.

"I know you slept with her!" Bones growled, chasing after the Vulcan and pulling up his sleeves, "She smelt like your damn herbs!" Spock ducked as a metal chair collided with the wall above him and dove out of the way as it clattered to the floor, making a painful echo bounce across the room, "Do you know how many times I had to treat her because of those damn herbs? She gets _high_ breathing in that shit. Is that your plan? If you can't have her for yourself, you'll kill her instead?"

"That was not my intention." Spock panted, dodging a set of PADDs that came careening across the room like vicious Frisbees. The last one clipped him on the cheek, causing a bead of blood to dribble down his skin and along the chiselled line of his jawbone.

"To hell it was, _Vulcan_," Bones spat venomously, chucking a keyboard towards the disoriented alien across the room; it hit Spock with a dull thud in the stomach and he visibly winced.

"Stop it Bones!" Jim reamed from behind him, snatching the screen from McCoy's hand and pressing it to his chest. The enraged doctor spun around and glared at him menacingly, the threat of mutiny brimming in his eyes.

"Why in the blazes are you siding with him!?" Bones roared, reaching violently for the keyboard hiding within Jim's grasp. He lashed out and Jim ducked instinctively, gritting his teeth as he fought the urge to tackle Bones to the ground.

"He didn't sleep with her." Jim replied quietly, whipping the keyboard away from the hostile doctor and towards a distant corner. Bones faltered for a moment and Jim took advantage of that, clearing all the other debris off the table and onto the floor in one fell swoop.

"How do you know that?" the chief medical officer spat, panting from exertion in front of his tired captain. He still radiated anger but his posture almost seemed defeated, as if he couldn't fight his urge to heal instead of hurt any longer. His age began to show on his weary face like a mask, showing every detail of the burden he held on his shoulders in the creases of his eyes.

"I know Bones. She wouldn't do that to you." Jim said gently, throwing Spock a glance that only meant one thing. McCoy's eyes widened slowly as it all came together before him.

"No way." McCoy muttered, casting his glance between the two men before him, "You've got to be kidding me."

"I no longer possess romantic intentions for Nyota." Spock replied gently, leaning against the wall in an attempt to hide his pain. Jim fought the urge to help him and won only marginally, his instincts still telling him to keep away.

"And you're...you're..." McCoy blubbered, his eyes going from Jim to Spock and back to Jim again at lightning speed.

"Yeah." Jim managed to interject before it got said in totality, indisposed to hearing the finality of the word. He shot Spock a fleeting look and felt the guilt swirling in his eyes before he saw it, causing a shiver to race down his spine; he felt that tingling sensation begin to swell at the tips of his fingers and stood elated, letting out a small, inaudible sign pass through his lips in pleasure.

The anger was suddenly gone; Jim was normal again, or at least as normal as he thought he ought to be in this spiraling situation.

Bones stared and gulped anxiously, still breathing heavily despite the moment of respite. He slowly backed out of the room and disappeared out of the doorway, allowing the bridge crew a brief moment to see into the action. After the doors had closed again, Chekov let out a small whoop after seeing the bleeding Vulcan and prompted Sulu to give up the forty credits he owed him. Sulu grunted and reached into his pocket sullenly, muttering something about Jim having cheated and Bones having helped him.

Spock pushed himself off the wall and tore his gaze away from his captain, the unfamiliar feeling of guilt assaulting him mercilessly. His heart wrenched slightly in his chest, a feeling he had felt before and despised. He fell gracefully onto a chair and stared absently at a dent in the wall he was facing, spattered with a spray of sickly green blood.

He continued staring until his field of vision was blocked by a blur of gold and butterscotch, "Are you alright?" a distant voice whispered quietly from a long ways off. Spock nodded his head only barely and he wasn't sure if he had done it at all, immediately forgetting his actions after performing them. He felt a gentle hand fall onto his shoulder and Spock took comfort in the rare contact, too soft to be meaningful. He let out an inaudible sign and concentrated on all the colours hidden in the fibres of the gold shirt before him, glittering only just in the halogen lights.

The hand slowly crawled along the sharp lines of his shoulder until it reached the black edge of his collar, only millimetres from the wintery skin of his neck. It tingled in anticipation and Spock swallowed heavily, his eyes still distant and lost. The words 'emotionally compromised' danced oppressively in his head.

Jim dragged his calloused fingers past the barrier of cloth and grazed them gently along the lines of Spock's collarbone, drunk on the tingling feeling that was flooding his body like gentle rainfall. It was even more breathtaking then it was in the depths of Spock's mind and he felt his heart thudding heavily in his chest like a bass drum. It pounded through his body and to his fingers against the exposed jugular of Spock's neck; he was vulnerable to Jim, leaning his neck to give him all the access he needed to make the final kill...

The anger came back, but this time it was _smoldering_.

_He wanted it. He wanted him._

He lowered his lips to the exposed length of his flesh and ran his teeth along the pounding vein, his pale skin scalding beneath the slick surface of his tongue. He couldn't deliver the final blow, not yet anyway; he wanted to play with his prey, his target, his _desire_.

He dragged his lips up the strong line of his jawbone and up to the lobe of his ear, making Spock quiver violently beneath him as the thin line of moisture cooled along his skin. He moaned when Jim brought his teeth along the angled length of his ear, nipping the tip of it gently but forcefully between his teeth, bringing forth an instinct in him that had lain dormant for months now.

Jim groaned as the deft fingers of the man beneath him made prey out of him, slinking up the side of his abdomen through the tear in his uniform like slithering eels with every intention of breaking him. Jim quivered and pressed his chest to Spock's, letting out a shaky breath against the tender flesh of the Vulcan's ear. Spock turned his head to the side and nipped at Jim's own exposed ear, biting it and running his tongue against it the same way Jim had to him. Jim fought his legs as they threatened to give out on him and brought his face away from the bare portion of skin he wished to ravish with a passion he was afraid to admit. His eyes caught on the partly open gap between Spock's thin lips and found that his mind could only think of them and nothing else.

Without warning, his lips were under attack; Spock had taken over, unwilling to fall prey to such an inferior being, a being so unlike himself...but yet the same. He groaned and reached for the nape of Jim's naked neck, burrowing his adept fingers in the tousled locks of his dirty blond hair. An explosion of emotion rang forth beneath the pads of his fingers, sending him notes of passion he didn't know he was capable of feeling; it rendered him breathless.

His roaming hands found their way under the hem of Jim's torn uniform and up his broad, heaving chest, feasting upon his humid skin as if it were the only thing that would keep him alive. Spock growled deeply in his throat, the sound reverberating violently against Jim's chest like an underground tremor in an exploding planet. He began to gently nip Jim's bottom lip, his closed line of vision beginning to be tainted by red again.

"Spock." Jim said quietly, pushing away from the Vulcan in front of him. His eyes were wide and worried, his lips parted and swollen. He stepped back and quivered slightly, his body in withdrawal from the tingly sensation that had been running rampant through his body. He wanted so bad to feel it again but refused himself the luxury, too fearful of the haunted look in Spock's onyx eyes.

Jim swallowed painfully, knowing that there was there was no way back now.

_There was no way back now._

"Mr. Spock, you are hereby relieved of duty until you are deemed fit by both Dr. McCoy and myself. Until then, you are dismissed."

Spock let out a small breath; he rose to his feet and flew out the door before he could allow himself to think, ignoring the blatant stares from the bridge crew as he strode into the turbolift without taking a breath.

Jim collapsed into his chair and let his face fall into his hands; he buried his fingers in his hair and massaged his scalp gently in some sort of failed attempt to calm himself. He squinted his eyes and rubbed them with his hands, his mind running over a million and one scenarios that could splay out and beat him senseless.

* * *

_Ding!_

Twelve hours later, Jim woke up with a start and sat up from his bed; it was 0300 hours and someone was at his door, which would have piqued his curiosity if he weren't so distracted in the first place. He cleared his throat with a cough and ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to wake up, still half asleep from his restless slumber.

"Who is it?"

_There was no way back now.

* * *

_

What did you think guys! Please review and let me know!

Love and fluff, Bront_ë_


	8. Chapter 8

Thank you to: MirrorFlower and DarkWind (thank you! you'll see soon!), circa divide (is it Pon Farr though? You'll see...), FullOfMirth (thank you for all of your reviews! But what is a WIP?), HerInfernalMajesty220 (thank you for your compliments! My biggest fear is that my character's emotions don't come off strong enough. I'm so happy that you think otherwise), Stelmaria (I hope my explanation will help you understand), Bubbly714 (I like your rambling Allie!), SeverusPotterSnape (is it Spock? or is it somebody else...you'll see!), Raphealle (thank you for your compliments and your review!), Veglma (LOL! Your review made me laugh so hard! All of your guesses really got my mind going about bonds and Pon Farr and crazy things, which inspired this chapter! So thank you!), swamud3a (5 am? Yikes! Read chapter 1 again if you want to know what happened on the bridge after. And Chekov nor the rest of the bridge saw any of this shit, only a beat up Spock and a nearly unhurt Jim when those doors opened so according to Chekov and Sulu, he did win!), knp10 (Thank you so much! Yay!), neenabluegirl (Bones strikes me as a man who sometimes acts before he thinks about it; I believe he truly is a good guy but in his younger age I believe he would turn to violence, as most young men do, when their pride is threatened. I chose to play on this and I hope that this play of events didn't ruin your view of this character!), Tango and Pomegranate (Stupid FanFiction! Arg! Thank you so much!! You're the second person to tell me that this story is their favourite and that makes me so insanely happy! It seriously brightened my day so much! So thank you for your kindness!), black suede (Oh my god I fail at life. Thank you for pointing that out to me. I fixed it cause I'm such a toolbox at 24 hr time!), calipalace (yes that was what I was going for! I wanted the reader to feel the tension that the slow time was making and yay! It worked! Thank you again Courtney!), Aelfe (Thank you! I know my style can be a bit confusing but I as a reader love when I truly have to think about the similies, the medaphors and the hidden meanings within the story as they add an extra dimension that a lot of other stories lack. In fact, I'm turning this into a giant allegory a la Roddenberry so get ready!) and DapperDestruction (I'll totally keep your suggestion in mind. Having Bones as the rock is a good idea, one that will most definately be used at one point in this monstrosity that was once supposed to be 3 chapters! Thank you so much for your compliments!)

WARNING: A FEW PARAGRAPHS IN THIS CHAPTER COULD BE CONSTRUED AS M RATED. I DO NOT BELIEVE THEY ARE M RATED AS I HAVE MASKED THEM QUITE WELL. IF YOU ARE A GIANT PRUDE, DON'T READ THE THIRD SPLICE OF THIS CHAPTER.

* * *

**Part Eight**

_Mad..._

Perfumed incense hung like celestial globes over the darkened room, with only a singular flickering flame bringing illumination to the onyx eyes that glimmered in the night. They shone like fiery orbs in the twilight, like stars going into supernova, like great tumulus galaxies colliding in chaos. They remained trained on the one solitary object before him as if they were attached with an invisible string, never moving, never stirring. The only movements of his body were the shallow inhales and exhales of breath through his parted lips, chapped and bruised from prior agonies.

His position made his torso ache unforgivingly; the reddish orange bruise he had received that evening splayed like a lightning strike across his pallid abdomen, playing spindly patterns up and down the tight ridges of his abdominal muscles. The pain helped him remember; it helped him remember _everything_.

This madness was not Pon Farr; he would have ripped the golden uniform off of Jim's butterscotch skin and sated his lustful urge long ago. This was much more complex and much less intolerable; like the burning candle in front of him, this feeling was smouldering slowly inside of his body and spirit, like molten coals sizzling after an open fire. It was like the lasting burn of a spicy cuisine dancing aggressively along his tongue, releasing powerful endorphins that made the pain intoxicating, sensuous, _addictive_. He craved it now, craved the contact, craved the desire riled up inside of him each time he thought of those irrationally pleasing fingertips grazing his tender flesh as if it were an ancient leather-bound book. He could feel his warm breath on his exposed neck, he could feel Jim's wily fingers running a foxtrot through his coarse black hair; he felt the pressure of uncontrollable desire pool beneath him and he acknowledged that he must control himself, he must stop before he truly rendered himself _mad_ and _hopeless_, _uncharted_, _insane_.

He had never been so distracted in his entire existence; he wasn't prepared to render himself a patient yet again to the erratic and incredibly hostile doctor in order to see if he was suffering from some sort of mental ailment he had picked up nor was he ready to go to the captain and explain that his behaviour was because of a virus. He wasn't even sure if it was a sickness at all...

Perhaps it was much deeper than that.

He wiggled his toes absently as he fought off the prickly pins and needles sensation throbbing in his one foot and calf; full blooded Vulcan's didn't suffer from this irritating ailment and Spock found himself often resenting the human shortcomings he had been adorned with. He shifted his weight and let his elongated legs extend in front of him in a slow, controlled motion. He ran his eyes along the contoured lines of his soft cotton pants, following along the hills and vales of the flowing garment as it creased against the pallid skin beneath. He followed them until he reached the colourless curves of his bare feet protruding from the openings of his trousers, hanging limply to the side like a boned fish. He turned his lip up from the repulsive thought process and bent one of his legs upwards, leaving the other extended. He leant his opposite arm on his bent leg and let his other arm splay behind him, keeping him upright as he turned his head to stare once again towards the iridescent candlelight sending shadows dancing along the walls of his quarters like gleeful sprites at a vivacious ball.

He remained like that for an immeasurable amount of time, watching the shadows on the walls in a near meditative trance, calming his mind and bringing peace to his raging feelings inside of him. He breathed in and out slowly, letting the synthetic oxygen pouring through the ventilation systems revitalize his body and mentality with comforting ease. He began to feel in control of his mind again, in control of his emotions, in control of his life. Satisfied, he rose to his feet and extinguished the candle before him, plunging the entire room in overwhelming darkness. He let his adept eyes adjust to the lack of light and found his way to his bed with uncanny elegance. He crawled in between the sheets and pulled them over top of his extended body, revelling in the cool material against his heated skin. He let his tired head sink into the soft contours of his pillow and closed his weary eyes, pressing his cheek into the cushion in relaxation. His limbs began to tingle just barely and Spock let a whisper of a smile grace his tranquil lips.

This would all be over soon.

_

* * *

Hopeless..._

"Come in..." Jim called out resignedly, running his abraded hands across his roguish features; he leant out of bed and sauntered jadedly towards his desk in some half-assed attempt to look somewhat professional despite the despairing hour. The door whoosed open carelessly, admitting the lengthily figure into the chaotic room, pitch dark except for the starlight shining through.

Nyota sat down on the chair in front of Jim's unruly desk and didn't bother trying to put up a professional pose. She sighed and leant her elbow on her folded knees, pressing her cheek into her hand and sighing acquiescently with suppressed frustration.

"I'm here on behalf of Leo, Jim."

"I figured."

Nyota craned her head and locked eyes with the sullen captain, his expression a contorted mix of concern and reconciliation; she wasn't sure of all the details yet but the main idea of the situation broadcasted loud and clear from his gloomy grey eyes.

"He finally passed out. He feels horrible."

"I figured."

She pursed her lips together and inwardly grumbled; she resolved that she had been spending too much time with the cantankerous chief medical officer but refrained from smiling about the ironic fact. She knew this was going to be like pulling teeth but she had to do it, she had to fix it, for Leo's sake at least.

"I thought it would be better to go to you first since going into Spock's room last time resulted in...well..."

Jim stayed silent, his eyes still trained on an adjacent wall. His shallow breathing hitched once, then continued on quietly as if he had remembered something and then quickly pushed it out of his mind.

"I've never seen Leo so panicked Jim. But you've know him longer than me. What the hell happened in there?"

Jim turned to face her, his mouth opening as if to speak then he closed his mouth again and looked away once more, appearing more like a gasping fish then a starship captain. Nyota let a humourless smirk come across her sharp features, her lips curving upwards in a smile more cynical then death.

"You don't have to tell me. I already know."

That got his attention; Jim swivelled up suddenly and stared at the smug brunette head on, his eyes widened to an uncomfortable degree. He unfolded his sprawling legs and brought them in front of him anxiously, his hands fiddling uncomfortably on top of his cluttered desk.

"What do you mean you already know?"

"I know Leo wouldn't have run out of there the way he did if you hadn't revealed something, something that proved that both Spock and I were innocent and something that scared the living shit out of him."

Jim bristled; he was already feeling a little defensive and this was only making it worse.

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

"You have no idea how see through you are."

Jim got up from his perch and locked his hands on his desk, extending his elbows and leaning over his bureau towards Nyota like a looming sepulchre in the dead of night. His eyes were grey like a decomposing gravestone, dark and infinitesimally evil. His mouth formed a cruel, thin line; he squinted and the lines of his face wrinkled harshly, narrowing towards the guessing game of intentions swirling tauntingly in the eyes of the woman before him.

"It can't get out."

"I know that Jim. I know that quite well."

"Then you know that life as you know it is in jeopardy."

"I'm aware of the circumstances."

"And you know that your involvement might cost you your freedom, your career and your life?"

"I've read their guidelines. I know their rules."

"Figures. You can read anything."

"Pretty much. I was the one who translated it."

"Huh," Jim sighed and shook his head as if he were trying to get rid of the errant thoughts running through his mind like wildfire, "Spock's lost his mind Nyota. If he keeps this up..."

"I know. But Leo's aware now and he can help us sedate him if we have to."

"So he _has_ gone into that...that crazy sex thing?"

Nyota laughed for the first time in what felt like days, "No, no Jim. It's something much _much_ worse."

_

* * *

Uncharted..._

Spock awoke with a violet start, ricocheting from his lying perch with enough force to break through a wall. He was panting heavily and his blood was rushing through his veins at an immeasurable speed, bring with it nausea and light-headedness. He keeled over and stumbled out of bed, leaning over in the direction of his small, standardized bathroom. He staggered over there aimlessly, falling against the sturdy doorframe in support of his weakened legs. He fell to his knees and relieved the contents of his stomach into the toilet before him, both disgusted and comforted that the churning blend of alien sensations was ejected from him and out of his system. Without properly regaining his logical algorithms, he laid down on top of his bathroom floor and enjoyed the cool tile against his steaming skin, revelling in the comfort it brought him. He was sick and he knew it but he refused to acknowledge it; McCoy would diagnose him insane.

_Ah McCoy..._he thought ponderously, still sprawled out impotently on his bathroom floor, _What an infinitesimal little speck. It would be logical to terminate him._ Spock shook his head suddenly and frowned, an expression oddly uncharacteristic for his usually frozen face, _I must not. But the sentiment remains..._

He got to his feet and rinsed his mouth out with a cupful of water; he admired his face in the mirror beyond the tap, rubbing his cheeks peculiarly as if seeing them for the first time. He leaned in closer and hummed deeply in his chest, confused with the image his eyes were transmitting to his ultimately capable brain; he was growing a beard.

It was barely there of course; the deep black hairs had only grown a tenth of an inch from his pale, flawless skin that covered most of his features. Only one mottled scar maimed his faultlessness now; the near imperceptible narrow line that ran beneath his hair and across his brow was what remained of his wounds from the failed mission on the lifeless colonized planet. He burrowed his practiced fingers through his hair to reveal the whitish scar to himself, frowning once again at the way it almost seemed to glow in the artificial light; it awoke a feral characteristic that drove him wild, that drove him to think of the only living being that had been present for that unfortunate injury that ruined his perfectly pallid skin so easily, like a sharpened knife through a tepid stick of butter.

He turned around and returned to his bed, gracefully folding his limbs into his place of slumber. Instead of sleeping though, he began to relive a dream he had just woke up from, sweating and gasping like a fish out of water, dying for the breath of life.

_It was dark. Pain...lots of pain. Emotions...too many. Time...unknown..._

_Spock grasped a gaping shard of Vulcan rock beside him and heaved heavily, his lungs burning with some sort of painful airborne hallucinogen. His mind was spitting out all sorts of colours, eradicating his abilities of perception through his olfactory, his aural and his other sensory systems. His captor's breath was heavy along the vulnerable length of Spock's neck, powerless as if feathered down his jugular and across his collarbone, awakening untamed instincts that raged like caged beasts inside the core of his body. His mind roared at him to move, to become one with his surroundings and fight off the attacker but he could not; he was glued to the sandy rock he was clinging onto, unable to regain the proper motor function in his limbs to run away._

"_I've been waiting..." the man's voice said dexterously from behind him, his warm mouth dangerously close to the tip of his pointed ear. Spock felt the man envelop the exposed skin between his wet lips, massaging it gently with the skillful tip of his slithering tongue. His hand slid down Spock's body slowly, exploring every inch of his bare chest as he writhed in agony, the intense emotion of desire killing him from within. He was paralyzed now; his attacker knew every secret of his existence and he was using that to his advantage._

_Spock's mind was blinded with craving; his vision went and the only senses that remained with him was his ability to hear the man's voice and to feel the man's provoking ministrations wrecking havoc across his body. His body hairs stood on end, like erect soldiers on patrol in battle. He heard his captor whisper words into his ears that he could not comprehend; the man's tongue swirled down the sensitive lobe of his ear, sucking and nibbling on it gently like a delicious treat. His hand had edged lower and lower down his ashen abdomen, leaving whitish traces of painful scratches in its destructive wake._

_He heard and felt his captor shift his body so he was now before him but he could not see; his vision was nearly completely blacked out and only vague shadows remained in his tapered vision. He tried to focus his onyx eyes on the muffled shadow before him but could not make out the face, only the rippling form of a dark silhouette against a pale grey background._

_A rough pair of hands pushed him backwards so that he was sprawled out on his uncovered back, the hands so full of raw hunger that he nearly passed out. The rush was so strong that it felt as if his brain had been short-circuited, as if his frontal cortex had just shut off and had to be rebooted again. He moaned as the emotion racked his nearly naked body, shaking as it broadcasted all throughout his weakened limbs. He let another quiet moan escape his parched lips; he was dying for more._

_Spock tried helplessly to remain clear-headed, to try and work out a plan for his escape. He tried to ignore the arctic touch of his captor's fingers creep further and further down his tightening torso, toying with the loosened waistband of his Vulcan garb. When they reached their climatic destination, Spock seized in agony, his body screaming for more as his mind screamed to get away. No intelligible words could escape the Vulcan's paralyzed lips; only elated moans and pleasured rumbles sought refuge in the air around him, giving his captor all the satisfaction he desired in hearing his hostage whimper for more._

_Spock shuddered violently as his captor unexpectedly brought his teeth down on the tense muscles of his shoulder, sending his chest skyrocketing upwards in surprise and pleasurable pain. His captor pushed it downwards roughly, punishing him by neglecting his primal desires again. Instead, his captor ran his fingernails along his tightened obliques, assaulting his nerves with heightened sensations he had never felt before. _

_His hands roamed lower again, retracing the same path it had followed before towards his lower abdomen in painstakingly slow motions. They traced small, haphazard patterns along the unblemished surface of his flesh, leaving ghostly sensations behind them. The hand tracing down his left muscle scooped down along the silky fabric of his trousers, sliding deftly across his taut quadriceps and up his inner thigh, prying his firm legs apart roughly. His other hand dipped beneath his drawstring once again, assailing him with emotions and primal instincts he didn't know he possessed. A deep roar shot through his barred teeth like the cry of a provoked animal, his dark eyes wide open and unseeing. _

_And then he was gone._

_His captor._

_His lover._

_Gone.  
_

Spock's chest heaved heavily, taking in fleeting breaths of the oxygen his body craved and yearned for. His entire essence was as rigid as stone, his muscles unyielding, his mind unwavering.

_He wanted it. He wanted him._

_

* * *

Insane..._

It was 0417 hours in the morning now, too early to be awake but too late to fall asleep. Nyota was still in Jim's room, pensively sitting on the couch along the bare white walls that furnished the entire living space. Jim sat opposite of her, perched lazily on his bed with his head in his hands as he thought out a million and one scenarios that would most likely go very _very_ badly.

"It won't get out for the meantime Jim. Get some rest." Nyota said quietly, leaning forward in a tired effort to get up from the couch. She gathered the boots she had kicked off more than a half an hour ago in her hands and walked over to the exhausted captain in front of her, vulnerable and looking worse for wear. The numerous bruises were beginning to mark his golden skin, marring it with blue and purple blotches that looked like mottled, disfigured flowers.

"Yeah..." Jim trailed off quietly, his voice worn out and gravelly, "Bones 'ill keep his mouth shut?"

Nyota smiled half-heartedly and placed a carefully manicured hand on his hunched shoulder, "As long as he's under my command, he'll never speak a word."

Nyota gave his shoulder a quick, reassuring squeeze and swiftly made for the doors, hoping to at least catch an hour or two of rest before she had to return to duty. She scurried like a noiseless spectre down the abandoned halls, leaving nothing but a shadow in her wake. She slipped into her quarters unnoticed by any other crew member and tiredly crawled into bed, too sleepy to wipe the make-up off of her stunning face. She closed her eyes and silently cursed herself, blaming her genes for getting her curious nose into this dangerous mess.

Back in his quarters, Jim was frozen in his current position; he was hunched over like Quasimodo with a burden on his back so heavy that he couldn't stand up. His face was buried deeply in his hands as if he were afraid to open his eyes and see the light, or rather, see the light of the situation. His heart was heavy and his thoughts were dark and endless, unwilling to silence in his weary mind. His muscles were sore and tender, as if he had been thrown into a food processor and then beaten with a tenderizer.

He knew that this would mark the end of his freedom; his life was in jeopardy from the moment this explosion of catastrophic chaos began. Everyone who was involved would end up on confinement colonies if this leaked out to _them_.

He couldn't let that happen; he wouldn't let that happen.

Jim craned his neck upwards and glanced sidelong at the clock beside him: 0452 hours. Jim had lost all concept of time, his mind on larger and terrible things. He sighed and looked away, dropping his heavy head onto the pillow beside of him in some hope that perhaps he would fall asleep.

He never did.

* * *

Spock has a beard and dirty dreams? Hmm...I wonder why...you'll see!

New universe. New enemies. New rules. New allegories.

Thank you for reading and please review!

Love and fluff, Brontë


	9. Chapter 9

A huge thank you to: Stelmaria (It'll get less sad, I promise), DapperDestruction (well some of your answers I'm sure will be answered today! And I hope my reviews were helpful!), MirrorFlower and DarkWind (Yay! Crazy imaginations are the best kind!), SeverusPotterSnape (thanks for the review!), knp10 (you'll get a pretty good idea come the end of this chapter), Bubbly714 (Yeah, everyone is confused right now but I imagine a lot of everyone's questions will be answered one you guys read this!), circa divide (Thank you for the compliment! I'm glad I've caught you in my stories grasp! Bwahaha! And I promise, the majority of your questions will be answered during this chapter!), swamud3a (Thank you so much!! Ah, that compliment made my week! I'm so happy that you understand now! And omnious rumblings coming on is a VERY good way to put it!), Veglma (haha! Your review made me giggle! So many questions! Well, some of them will be answered in this chapter and the rest will follow so don't you worry! "Dear god, someone do something before Spock snaps and goes completely INSANE!" Ummmm...let me think about that...), applepie1989 (thanks for the review!), Varda-Elentari (I prefer them over S/U as well. I chose them because I really needed Bones and Uhura, as secondary main characters, to have a really strong relationship and it just kind of evolved into a romantic one over time. Believe me, it gets pretty vital to the story line), FlowerChild13 (Oh yes, this is no mere love story!) and Ox King (Thank you so much for the compliment!)

So I received my first real flame this week; you can read it if you want so you're not completely confused by my response. To Sol and to others who feel similarly: I will not re-write my story because you believe it has no premise. My style is slightly confusing so that the resolve of the situation is much more impactful and if you came into this thinking it would be a happy romantic story, you should have turned away at chapter two where it clearly indicates that all is not as it seems. I'm going to put up a warning at the beginning of the story so I don't mislead anymore of you.

Anyway, to those of you that reviewed, thank you so much! I hope most of your questions will be answered as this chapter is a huge explanation chapter. But it's good, I promise.

Also, to those that don't review, I have a poll on my profile about your reception to this story. Please let me know if you're visiting my profile if you love it, hate it, think its the most confusing piece of dung etc. It'll help me a lot!

* * *

**Part 9**

Bones awoke the next morning looking dishevelled and hung-over; his head was pounding furiously in contrast to the blaring alarm clock at his right and he flipped over in his bed to press the sleep button like a fish out of water. After the raucous siren waned into silence, Bones buried his barely receptive body back into its comfortable niche with a satisfied yawn.

Fifteen minutes later the bloody thing went off again, jostling him awake once more in a very unpleasant way. He grumbled furiously and reached around to smack the sleep button again but the infuriating device was just out of his reach, meaning that the cantankerous doctor would have to _move_ in order to turn it off. Bones groaned in defeat and pulled himself semi-upright, staring longingly at the noisy machine in hopes that lasers might come flying out of his eyes.

He leant out of bed and got to his feet, scratching his eyes in order to get the crusty sleep lodged out of his tear ducts. He walked over to his bathroom, picking up a haphazardly placed PADD along the way so that he could throw it at the irritating contrivance still wailing like a banshee; he hit the thing dead on and managed to shatter the plastic covering the speaker as well, giving Bones great satisfaction. He resolved that the day was going to be a good day once he got rid of his throbbing headache and poured some leftover Jack into his coffee.

He stepped out of the shower and took a good look at his face in the mirror, mussing his sopping chestnut hair around so that it looked vaguely spiky. He frowned when he noticed his hairline receding beneath and quickly flattened his shortened hair, wondering suddenly if Nyota had noticed.

He stepped back out into his living quarters stark naked and threw on a pair of underwear, still somewhat unused to the privacy after living with another man in the same dorm for three years. Another man whose infamous name was James T Kirk, captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise, his captain, his best friend, his...

He was a man, hunted by trouble of the worst kind.

Bones shivered as he pulled on his trousers, the memories of the past few days hitting him dead-on like an axe to the skull.

Was he the only one who knew? The only one in trouble? Bones didn't know. He was positive, however, that the majority of the crew was completely clueless; if more people knew, _they_ would be here right now. News spread fast despite the gaping space in between their vessel and StarFleet, bring with it more harm than good. Bones collapsed onto his bed and threw his head into his hands, his torso still bare and glimmering in the sparse light filtering from the bathroom.

He sighed and ran his fingers through his damp hair absently, hoping Jim was coming up with some idea as he laid therein thought; he grunted and inwardly admitted, albeit grudgingly, that he couldn't come up with a decent plan himself.

The line between ethics, morals and the rules of allianced races was incredibly thin; when a species is absorbed and integrated into the Federation, their rules, laws and regulations are integrated into the Federation as well, some more than others. And this newly allianced race in particular was very _very _powerful to the Federation, so powerful in fact that StarFleet was willing to deny the existence of some of their own standards just to strengthen their relationship at the sake of the Federation races, specifically those who originated on Earth.

And they _suffered_.

The means of equality that had graced the people of planet Earth was suddenly vanquished; their race was once again plunged into the dark ages where men and women were only allowed to mate, and therefore must mate for life. Women were allowed to work, but not allowed to lead, or they would be ousted perpetually. Petitions and chaos broke free, sending mass amounts of people rioting in the streets of San Francisco, a place where famous men had vouched for the rights of equality and won, bringing peace and fairness to those affected.

The women leaders around the world were usurped by men unfit to lead, bringing much wrong to the country they called their homeland. Poverty, a word that hadn't been spoken on news reels for more than a century, wrecked havoc in countries like the Philippines, Venezuela and Sierra Leone. Distraught prime ministers and presidents fought the Federation's enormous power over their countries but lost miserably, their lawyers outsmarted and their pleas unheard. The entire makings of the United Nations erupted in anarchy and pandemonium so that no country was helping each other in their downward spiral and plight.

If one were to disobey these new laws, they would be punished under _pain of_ _death_.

The Demorians came from a system similar to that of Earth's, with only one planet supporting life in the entire array of planets. They discovered warp capability just after their system was discovered by the Federation and had prospered greatly in the fields of advanced weaponry and fuels since then. Their weapons were more deadly than that of the atomic bomb, a weapon not used for over two centuries. Their advanced fuel cells, with materials mined from the expansive and plentiful surfaces of the twenty barren planets in their system, were capable of running for millennia. The Federation requested for their admittance but the Demorians politely declined, thoroughly disgusted by Earth's laws and way of life. They believed in slaves, they believed in demoralization of minorities, they believed that public death was a much more definitive way of keeping their citizens comfortably within the law. And the only thing the Federation saw was a prosperous opportunity.

After much deliberation, the commanders of the United Federation of Planets decided that none of these laws would affect their way of life in any way. All the representatives were straight male specimens, with steady wives and children who did not work because of their own hefty pay check. They were not poor, they lived in wealthy mansions, they did as they pleased because they made the law as they saw fit.

Two days later, the Demorian government and the Federation shook hands amicably, unknowingly signing their freedom away in the process.

The next day, 1 652 455 Terrans were ordered to cease and desist their marriages with their partners of the same gender upon pain of death. 189 803 people died.

That same day, fourteen country leaders were mutinied from their position as head of country; three were assassinated ruthlessly when they fought the accusation that they were unfit because they were female.

Three days after, 697 873 Terrans were incarcerated because they were actively participating in riots across the planet. Most were sent to isolated colonies to work as labourers. Some were sent to Demoria to work as slaves. They didn't last more than a day.

The Federation was in a panic; people from all their allied planets rushed into headquarters in a fury, unable to believe what was happening. Demoria was infiltrating systems and ordering other planets to follow their rules as well in return for advanced weaponry and fuel cells that they had yet to give over. The Federation cowered; they had no choice to obey.

Rigelians, Andorians, Tellerites, and other races tried in vain to object the rules without much success; after one small demonstration of the firepower that could be produced from only one Demorian war ship, they quietly backed down like beaten dogs.

Any man who was found guilty of an "unlawful" relationship of the same gender was to be eliminated. Anyone who was caught hiding the secret of this "unlawful" relationship was to be sent to Demoria to be worked as slaves. Men were used as builders and engineers, often exposed to deadly materials like mercury and plutonium without protection. Women, unclothed and humiliated, were chained and sold to the highest bidder like a disposable napkin, cheap and easy to throw away. Virgins sold for the highest amounts of money, specifically young girls in their early teens, just barely ripened like a green, juiceless pear.

U.S.S. Federation ships were being searched and detained one by one, collecting known members in "unlawful" relationships and taking them hostage, never to be heard from again. The Enterprise hadn't been seized yet and everyone was anxiously waiting for the oncoming slaughter. There was no way to hide anything from the cruel and merciless alien race; if unconvinced, like a Vulcan, Demorians could penetrate the mind and find all they needed to know through a excruciatingly painful method not all that different from a mind meld. The only difference? After exhuming every detail of their hostage's life, the prisoner's brain functions would cease to function and would therefore die slowly and painfully while the remnants of the vital organ leaked out through their nasal cavity.

Bones shuddered and reached for his blue uniform absent-mindedly, pulling it onto his well built frame with a strewn out look in his eyes. He didn't know which would be worse, hiding his best friend's relationship with a bloody hobgoblin and risk dying slowly and painfully of radiation poisoning or watching his friend get carried away with death in his eyes, knowing that Bones would do nothing to stop them from bludgeoning him to death on the Demorian's home planet for all to see.

Fighting the nausea growing in his stomach, he left his quarters and made his way to sick bay, too sickened by the thought of letting his friend die so brutally that he forgot to get something to eat.

Two decks up, Jim was pacing his room like a furious beast locked in a claustrophobic cage. His shoulders were hunched and the lines beside his eyes were quickly deepening, like crevices in a cavernous void. His breathing was shallow and tense; his heart thumped heavily in his chest like someone banging heavily on an iron knocker. Dark circles had formed under his muted grey eyes, making Jim appear much older than he actually was.

He suddenly diverted from his worn path and made his way over to his comm. pad in one fluid motion; he pressed the button roughly and called out the designation for the person he needed to see.

"McCoy here." A gruff voice grumbled from the speaker, "What's the medical emergency?"

"Bones, it's me." Jim said quietly, "Are you in your office?"

Bones hesitated, obviously taken back by the voice behind the speaker, "Yeah. Nobody's around."

"Good." Jim replied confidently despite the nervous pit growing in his stomach, "I need you to clear out sickbay. Get everybody out."

"What's going on Jim?" Bones asked unsteadily, nervously shutting the door to his office with his foot and glancing around to see if anyone was outside. Nurse Chapel was dutifully stacking bed sheets in a cupboard near the other side of the room and there were no other crew members in sight.

"I think I figured out why I've been acting so insane. But I can't be sure without your help."

"What do you mean, without my help?" Bones uttered suspiciously, the hairs on the back of his neck rising marginally.

"I need you to get into my brain Bones. I don't know how but I think I did something damaging when I..." Jim trailed off, a theory hitting him in the face like a stone mallet.

"When you what Jim?"

"I'll tell you when I get down there. Bugs, you know?"

Bones took a moment before understanding what Jim implied, "Right. I'll get Chapel out of here and lock it down."

"Thanks Bones. I don't know what I'd do without you." Jim said jokingly, the first bit of humour he had uttered in a long time. Bones grunted in mock amusement and cut the comm. link, unconsciously speculating if their internal communications really had been bugged. He wondered how much the Demorians knew about the goings on in their ship; he questioned what they would do about it when they got their hands on the Enterprise.

The path towards the Deia system brought them dangerously close to the Neutral Zone, a place where no Federation starship would want to be lost in at any given moment, except the Enterprise as of now. If anyone knew the Demorians weaknesses, it was the Romulan Empire, whose cunning spies had infiltrated their governments and cities, and Jim Kirk was using this to their prime advantage.

_Ah, Romulans..._ Jim thought, mock smiling at the less than pleasant thought. His first encounter with the inconsistently insane species of humanoids was...disquieting to say the least. As he left his quarters in the direction of McCoy's hopefully empty sickbay, he reminisced on his experiences in the godforsaken mining ship that had nearly cost him the entire galaxy.

He strode into sickbay and saw no one in sight, much to his relief. He walked towards his friend's secluded office and found himself confronted by a peculiar sight; McCoy was standing on the edge of his chair with his head lost in a hole where a ceiling tile should have been. He was cursing and swearing like the best of them, yanking a red wire out of its socket and throwing it across the room.

Jim ducked instinctively as the wire flew over top of his golden head, "Remodelling your office Bones?"

Bones grunted and leant down from his perch, glaring at the smirking captain with murder written clearly in his eyes, "Those god-damned buggers bugged my office! What in the blazes do they expect to find in my damn office? Do those assholes not know the meanin' of doctor patient confidentiality?!"

"Calm down Bones," Jim said quickly, hushing his angry friend with a finger over his lips. He ushered him over to his desk and deftly plucked a nearly microscopic device from beneath the table, crushing it between his two fingers, "I found one of these microphones about two weeks ago under the table of my ready-room. I've been finding them all over the place now and relocating them in the garbage shoot, where they belong."

"Huh," Bones grumbled tetchily, wiping a bead of sweat off his brow with his shirtsleeve, "We should order a ship-wide search. Try and find 'em all before they hear somethin' bad."

"I already have. But none of us ever thought to look in your office, of all places. And what the hell was one doing in your ceiling?"

"Dunno. It was on the beam right above my couch."

"I better start getting scouts up in the ceiling too. Who knows how many more there are out there that we've missed."

Bones nodded and sat down onto his chair, leaning his cheek into the palm of his hand, "Have they bugged our quarters too?"

"Not that I know of. The update support teams from our last station stop don't have access to our private quarters and that's the only way they would've been planted. I guess we can't even trust the upgrade system teams any longer either."

"God-damnit Jim!" Bones cried, throwing his hands up in frustration, "How could the Federation let this happen? This is fuckin' genocide! We might as well be in the damn Middle Ages all over again."

"I know..." Jim trailed off, rubbing his upper arms as if he was cold, "But we have better things to worry about right now." Bones motioned for him to sit down in front of his desk and Jim followed suite, "Has Nyota told you?"

"Not entirely," Bones replied, obviously uncomfortable with the situation.

"Well," Jim started, biting his lip anxiously, "It started out like this."

As Jim explained his situation to McCoy, his already sour facial expression went from bad to worse. By the time Jim was finished his explanation of the past week and a half or so, Bones appeared as if he had just seen a ghost.

"Do you know what this means Jim? You idiot! You might have actually damaged Spock's entire brain function! His persona could be so completely damaged by this point that his whole 'I'm a fuckin' superior Vulcan' might be entirely conked out! He could be dying right now!" Bones exclaimed furiously, throwing his arms up in perturbed defeat. He got up from his chair and paced around the room like an infuriated tiger, glaring crossly at the walls in front of him.

"I know Bones but-"

"But what? What do you expect me to do about it?! I'm a doctor damnit, not a revolutionary! I'm not fightin' these damn insects for that damn hobgoblin!"

"I'm not asking you to."

"Then why the hell are you draggin' me into this?!"

"I need your help."

"To hell you do! I'm not gettin' sent away to some god-forsaken planet where I'll end up developin' multiple flesh eating diseases that will slowly eat away at my internal organs until I end up painfully disintegratin' into a giant glob of decomposed flesh and rotten bones!"

"Oh for fucks sake Bones, I'm not asking you to fight anybody! I'm not asking you to fight beside me or even for Spock. I'm asking that you help me because if Spock's dying, then I think I'm dying too."

"Oh well isn't that cute. Why don't you just declare you love n-"

"That's not what I'm talking about. Get a hold of your fucking bitchyness and listen to me. Whatever I did to his brain affected me as well. Vulcans are three times as strong as humans and I managed to pin one down on the ground for at least a minute," Jim dipped his head so that the crown of his scalp was facing McCoy's eyes, "Look! My roots are tuning black! I'm a natural blond!" He lifted his hair and stared into McCoy's eyes, seeing the worry beginning to boil inside of them, "I tried to eat a bologna sandwich last night and nearly threw it up because it tasted so bad, and I love bologna! I'm developing Vulcan traits Bones! Vulcan! I'm turning into a fucking Vulcan!"

Bones stood with his mouth ajar, soaking it all in, "Sit down. I'll be right back." McCoy rushed out of his office and grabbed a tricorder, shoving it into his belt. He ran over to a giant locked cupboard and typed in the password as fast as his calloused fingers would let him. The doors whoosed open a second after he entered the final number and he hoisted a large instrument off of the shelf and onto one of the sickbeds, flipping its ON switch and attaching the tricorder to the apparatus.

The instrument was used to repair brain damage and monitor patients whose brain functions were irregular or comatose but when using the proper diagnostic tool, Bones would be able to trace minor irregularities in certain parts of the brain, specifically ones caused by psychic encounters gone wrong. He called for Jim to come over as he programmed the device and the tricorder to work simultaneously and Jim found himself staring at the devious looking contraction with growing suspicion.

"It looks like an octopus." Jim said bluntly, keeping a safe distance between himself and the machine.

"Do you want to know why you're turning into a hobgoblin or not." Bones stated brusquely without inflection, brushing his dishevelled chestnut hair out of his eyes. He made the final changes and motioned for Jim to lie on the bed, "It won't bite."

Jim harrumphed, "That's easy for you to say." He reluctantly hoisted himself onto the sickbed and positioned his head underneath the contraption which did somewhat look like an octopus and suspiciously glared at Bones who was now across the room behind a panel.

"Stay still Jim. If you move, we'll have to start this all over again."

Jim sighed and rolled his eyes, "Fine."

Fifteen minutes later, Jim heard the machine above his head shut down and he heaved himself upright, positioning his body lazily on his elbows. The whirring sound had given him a bit of a headache and he blinked a few times to try and clear it before he finally saw the look on McCoy's face.

Bones was giving horrified a _whole_ new meaning.

"Bones?" Jim asked, worried at the astonished expression on McCoy's ashen face.

"Your...your whole hypothalamus...your limbic system..."

"English Bones?"

McCoy looked up from the panel and then back down again, closing his dropped jaw and blinking profusely, "The part of your brain that controls your emotions, your appetite, your body temperature and some other automatic functions are...are partially rewritten! It's like Spock's DNA got inside of you somehow, or perhaps his..." Bones trailed off, mumbling to himself about the possibilities.

Jim, on the other hand, was stunned. _Rewritten?_ He gulped and sat up from the sickbed, rubbing the back of his head absently, "Is it reversible?"

"I'd need Spock to know." Bones said, rubbing his stubble in deep concentration, "If he's been affected by the same malady and he has your characteristics somehow melded into his diencephalon, it could theoretically be reversible, but with some adverse side effects."

"What do you mean, side effects?" Jim asked suspiciously, having been victim to many adverse side effects before.

"I mean that there will still be a part of that hobgoblin in your brain, just not enough for you to notice like you are now." Bones caught himself, seeing the fearful expression on Jim's face, "You'll like bologna again, I promise."

"Ugh, thank god. Salads are disgusting."

Bones snorted and shook his head, "Well, I'm glad to see that most of your personality is still intact."

Jim threw Bones a wily grin and got up from the bed he was perched on, "So, is this thing going to get any worse?"

"I don't know Jim." Bones said worriedly, the crease between his eyebrows deepening, "I've never seen anything like this before in my life."

"Damn..." Jim trailed off, grazing his eyes over the results of the test. He managed to recognize many things, including the irregular readings of automated body systems, "So if I'm turning into a vegetarian He-Man, what the hell is Spock turning into?"

"If it's anything like you, I'm committing suicide." Bones joked, grinning crookedly at the scowling blonde before him. Jim went to punch Bones in the arm but stopped right before coming in contact with him, worried that he might break his arm if he tried.

Seconds later, Bones comm. blared loudly from his office on the other side of the room. Throwing Jim a worried look, he loped over towards his office and pressed his comm. button hesitantly. Immediately, an equally worried voice came blaring over the speakers.

"Leo? We have a problem."

* * *

If anyone can tell me where I'm taking this story (I made a teensy reference to it in the middle of the chapter), I'll buy you a million cookies!

Also, do you think I should name my chapters or keep them labeled as Chapter 1, Chapter 2 etc.? Let me know your opinion! And please review!

Love and fluff,

Brontë


	10. Chapter 10

Thanks to: Varda-Elentari (thanks for the feedback. Sorry if you felt that way about that. If you're still reading, I hope your opinion changes and you like it again), MirrorFlower and DarkWind (Thank you so much! Yay positivity!), abbby (was cute story a question? lol), Stelmaria (your review convinced me completely! I'll stick with numbered chapter names because I totally agree with you!), swamud3a (I AM Napoleon. Lol. And Bones being dead sexy was totally my intention, he totally deserves some sexy time. Ha! Hit the nail on the nose. Vulcan definately has something to do with the Federations weakness but that will be explained later so stop reading my mind. And, in my opinion, I kind of do believe that the federation leaders will still be heterosexual rich men because of our segregational history; human nature has not changed much in the past three thousand years and I doubt that we will grow above our phobic ways in a mere two hundred years. But that's just my opinion and the mindset I took in writing that section), circa divide (thank you so much for the positive review!), rebelwilla (you'll see!), Veglma (lol your review made me laugh my pants off! I look forward to your review every week cause you're so funny!), SeverusPotterSnape (Everyone is confused! Nobody understands! GAH! I'll check out your story now, holy crap you've written a crapload of stories!), knp10 (Thank you so much! This review made me so happy and fluffy inside!) and Bubbly714 (computers are the dumbest thing in the world! Yay for possibly understanding what's going on? Thanks Allie!)

4) Skill Testing Question: In this chapter, I mention a few USS ships. All of them (minus the Enterprise) are named from a sci-fi classic! What book/movie are those names from? If any of you can figure it out I'll be so impressed cause they're from my most favourite book in the world!

* * *

**Part 10**

After witnessing Jim's unfathomable transformation begin to take place earlier that morning, Nyota's interest had piqued; Jim's hair was turning the characteristic shade of bistre that the Vulcan and Romulan races grudgingly shared and she only had to think about seeing Jim in Spock's signature bowl cut once before bursting out laughing. She was dressing herself in her usual Venetian red uniform and was attempting to make light of the daunting situation; the less she worried about the threat of Demorians crashing through the Enterprise, the more prosperous she would be in her duties.

As she lifted her beautifully sculpted leg onto a chair in order to zip up her standard issue boot, she thought about how the strange transformations might be affecting Spock. She smiled crookedly to herself and hoped that his hair wasn't turning blond and unruly like the ship's roguish captain; she certainly wouldn't be able to keep a straight face if it wasn't reversible.

She quickly smoothed her hair in her mirror before leaving her quarters and headed hurriedly down the hallways towards the mess hall for breakfast. The halls were bustling with life, filled with alpha shift personnel scuttling along to their various stations. Her stomach growled hungrily and she unconsciously rubbed it, as if she were trying to soothe it into waiting a few more minutes.

She caught up with Sulu and Chekov, talking amicably about Spiderman comic books from the 20th century and how they were still 'way cool' despite their old age. Nyota rolled her eyes as they babbled on about a villainous octopus man and loudly wondered about why she was friends with the two men beside her.

"Zat's not wery nice Nyota!" Chekov cried, not quite grasping the tone of sarcasm that heavily laced her wily comment. Sulu rolled his eyes and elbowed him in the ribs, resulting in a high pitch squeal to echo throughout the corridor, "Hikaru!" he whined with pathetic puppy dog eyes, grasping at his side protectively. Sulu rolled his eyes again and glanced over at Nyota.

"He's really ticklish." Sulu droned, as if it were the answer to the worlds' problems, "We were talking about the Green Lantern's effect on American culture in my quarters last night when one of my plants started tickling him. It was priceless Nyota, you should have been there."

"I'm relieved that I wasn't, thank you very much," Nyota drawled jokingly, elbowing the suspicious-eyed navigator in the ribs like Sulu had before. Chekov yelped again, giggling with enough fervour to give a toddler a run for his money, "I'd rather not have my ear drums rupture from his banshee cries."

"You guys are so mean to me!" Chekov bleated feebly, rubbing his hands along his sides in some useless attempt to shield them from his two friends that were sandwiching him. He watched them warily as they closed in on both sides, Nyota and Sulu eyeing each other with wicked humour twinkling in their mischievous grins. As they strode into the wide open room of the mess, they attacked the defenceless navigator without mercy, tickling him with a vengeance Chekov didn't know they were capable of.

A flood of crew members split like a stream around a jagged rapid, surrounding the two impish senior officers and the adolescent navigator in a circle of grinning faces; Nyota's supremely attuned ear heard the accented guffaw she couldn't help but adore as she hunkered down on the wailing navigator and tickled even more viciously, calling out to the rest of the smiling men and women to join in on the torment.

"Aye lassie! Want some help?" The familiar voice chimed from behind Nyota's stooped body, clapping her on the shoulder in a friendly greeting. Nyota looked up at him and grinned deviously, giving him all the invitation he needed.

The patrons of the mess hall laughed merrily and without worry at the heap of giggling gold, letting the sick feeling of anticipation wash off of their shoulders for a moment of respite. It had been something that had been ominously present in their lives since they were assigned to this vessel, since the Federation decided to give 'the road to hell is paved with good intentions' a whole new meaning. Some of the by-standing crew even joined into the fun at Chekov's expense, tickling him so much that his hysterical guffaws could be heard over their buoyant laughter. It was that moment of carefree easiness that raised the morale of the crew slowly but surely, easing away the horrible feeling that had been growing inside of them throughout these gruelling months of oppression.

Corruption, discrimination and many other repressive nouns hung over their heads like a menacing cloud, bringing with it a nervous angst that seemed to spread throughout the galaxy like a virus. Those who wished to revolt against the tyrannical rule of the Demorians did so in private waves, starting forth an underground revolution that first sparked in the lower bowels of the USS Enterprise. Its influence was quickly spreading to other ships across the quadrant, making them a force that wasn't yet formidable but certainly had the potential to be. Not many planet-bound people knew about the uprising yet; their broadcasts, transmitted from the Enterprise, were sent through an obscure frequency that was only accessible with the appropriate technology and the appropriately trained individual. They called themselves Engineers for Equality for the meantime, but its leader was thinking about a more appropriate name after receiving surges of broadcast requests from science officers, security personnel and medical staff situated all over the galaxy.

Tartan Sandwich, the founding member's witty codename and leader of the underground insurgence, sent out a broadcast every week on a signal so ingeniously encrypted that only the most skilled officers would be able to unscramble it. He sent it first to Ratchet and Weasel, two older engineers on the USS Marvin he had known before getting shipped off to a desolate icy planet he refused to mention ever again. Ratchet and Weasel then sent it to trustworthy engineers that they knew from the Academy, beginning a revolution that once started, would never stop.

_There were many beginnings, but only one ending._

Tartan Sandwich wasn't the only activist opposed to the Demorian's oppressive rules on the Federation; Janice Rand, the once commanding yeoman on the USS Arthur, had found a way to spread her distaste as well. After sending around a petition against female segregation that had gained over 12 940 signatures, Tartan Sandwich invited her to join his ranks of men and women in the underground fight against the discrimination that was tearing their world apart.

Janice Rand became Lady Liberty, voice of the broadcast and humanitarian leader for Engineers for Equality, gracing its members with her gentle but persuasive influence over the men and women who listened weekly. They felt her pain, they rejoiced in her hope, they lost when she lost and they grasped for the faith that she gave them every week; after her segment, she would bid them farewell and wish upon a star for her listeners, hoping that they may live to see another week no matter their gender or sexual preference.

Letters of support and inquiries came flooding in over the frequency every week and Tartan Sandwich was particularly tickled by one question in particular. During the broadcast, Tartan Sandwich came on the air and read out the question in hopes that the inquirer was listening.

"Dear Tartan Sandwich, yer broadcast is inspirin'! Doon't ever stoop! But I'm wonderin', why did yeh create Engineers fer Equality in the first place? Well laddie, here's ye answer! Mah ship is a bonnie lass, a real sophisticated lassie, I can tell ye that. She's goot rights yeh know, she deserves teh be a leader, the priestess o' the galaxies! Without me bonnie lass, I goot nothin'."

Soon after Lady Liberty's induction, the Ratchet and Weasel segment of the broadcast was introduced; aptly named "The Captain's Guide to Demorian Conquest", it became a bi-weekly staple show on the Demorian's brutal occupation as they trampled and wrecked havocthroughout the galaxy. Being the older men that they were, they had acquired many powerful friends all over the Alpha Quadrant that eagerly joined in without question, hoping candidly that they could help the greater good. They tried to alert Ratchet and Weasel as often as they could about the various locations that the Demorians were occupying with their heavily adorned war ships or what sector they were planning on invading so that ships with Engineers for Equality members could steer clear of those locations. One man in particular, code-named Sandman, was in direct contact with the Demorian dictators and was an invaluable asset to the underground revolt and to the captains of the many USS vessels still intact.

Jim wasn't even remotely surprised anymore when Scotty came raucously babbling onto his bridge about random engine difficulties with a wad of folded up paper discreetly hidden in his soiled sleeve. Each time he went to leave after a few minutes of "updates", Scotty made to shake hands with the blond captain and handed off the crinkled paper in the process, unwilling to be obvious just in case of spies, microphones or cameras. Five or ten minutes or so later, Jim would excuse himself to some secluded area and read the handwritten note, giving him instructions to stay away from certain sectors and stay close to others. Jim always took the advice very seriously, knowing exactly where the information came from; he listened to the broadcasts himself whenever he could and felt an immeasurable growth of pride in knowing that his ship was the one who had started it all.

After mercilessly ticking the poor navigator for what seemed like an eternity for the half giggling, half blubbering Russian, Nyota and the rest of the crew let him alone, leaving him to crawl away on all fours while cursing in Russian and laughing at the situation at the same time. Nyota patted both Scotty and Sulu on the back for a job well done and went to find a spot to sit in the crowded room. Finding a square table near the front of the space, Nyota parked herself on one of the chairs and held it for the two men as they lined up for the replicator.

"Lieutenant? May I join you?" a familiar voice spoke, sounding oddly constricted. Nyota looked up and caught sight of the looming Vulcan before her, teetering back and forth as if he were nervous. Nyota nodded and Spock took a seat, unconsciously rubbing his elongated fingers along his bristly cheeks.

"Something the matter Spock?" Nyota asked, eyeing the Vulcan's uncharacteristic movements with a worried expression; he seemed to be fidgety and nervous, an occurrence Nyota considered impossible coming from the usually statuesque body of the half Vulcan before her. She swallowed her worry as she waited for an answer, which he was clearly struggling with.

"I don't think so." Spock replied quietly, staring wildly at his hands for no apparent reason. He then propped his elbows on the table and set his face in his hands, his face ponderous as he explored the strange human position.

"Did...did you just make a contraction?" Nyota asked warily, hoping that it had just been a figment of her imagination; the look on Spock's face said otherwise.

"I believe I did." He replied uncertainly, frowning in a very human fashion. Sulu caught sight of it from afar and dropped his strawberry yoghurt on the floor in shock, leaving it to splay all over the shoes of an infuriated security officer affectionately labelled as Cupcake.

Nyota noticed the unnerving scowl as well and got up from her seat, coming to Spock's side on the other side of the table, "Hey Spock, you know what? Maybe we should go see Dr. McCoy and get you checked out."

"I doubt my presence would be welcome." Spock replied bluntly, turning his lip upwards in distaste. Nyota swallowed the unsettling feeling at the sight of Spock's disturbing expression, hoping against all hope that Spock was just making an elaborate joke.

"Then what about nurse Chapel? I'm sure she wouldn't mind making sure you're not coming down with anything."

Then Spock did the most unnerving thing anyone had ever seen him do.

He laughed.

He laughed like a madman.

Heaving Spock out of his chair as best she could, Nyota propped herself beneath Spock's arm and pulled the Vulcan towards the exit, staggering and bobbling beneath the overwhelming weight of the laughing maniac. In almost an instant, Scotty took up his other side and seized most of the Vulcan's mass on his shoulders, leaving Nyota to swiftly lead them out of there. She did so with great haste, already drawing the unwanted attention of the entire Alpha Shift away from their buttered bagels and their Captain Crunch unintentionally. Without having the power to make them turn away, she resolved that she would just have to bee-line it out of there in hopes that she could threaten them under secrecy later; after all, Demorians already hated Romulans and since Vulcans were only Romulans without emotions, what would stop them from going after Spock?

Scotty tapped in the override code to the first door they saw and hastily dragged the hysterical Vulcan inside of an ensign's shared quarters, unwilling to have anyone else witness the messy scene. Nyota galloped over to the comm. link in their room and immediately called for sickbay in hopes that McCoy would answer.

"Leo, we have a problem." She said worriedly into the microphone, glancing waywardly at the harebrained Vulcan that Scotty had dropped in a chair. He was still laughing, but not as intensely as he was before, and Nyota finally realized that her eyes were not playing tricks on her; Spock was actually growing a _beard._

"Nyota?" McCoy's anxious voice called back, "Please don't tell me it's-"

"It's him alright. And he's _laughing_."

Silence waned on the other side of the speaker.

"Wonderful."

"My sentiments exactly."

* * *

Sixteen light years away, Lieutenant Isha Suran stood chained to a wall. It was dark and murky and the air was tainted with the unmistakable scent of suffering, something she was not all that unfamiliar with. With her transporter inconspicuously pierced into her carefully hidden pointed ear, all she had to do was wait for her buyer to pick her up from this slaver prison.

She waited patiently, attempting to ignore the impatient grumbles of her stomach; she assured herself that she would be filling her starving belly soon with the information she had been sent down to retrieve. She smiled at the irony; their own sex slaves would be the ones to ruin _them_.

Her smile quickly faded as she heard garbled shouts echoing down the magnetite corridors and she transformed back into the weak and distressed slave she was posing to be, hanging from her shackles like a limp, bones fish. She did not fight when the crude guards groped at her naked body, she did not protest when they blindfolded her and led her away, still shackled at the wrists.

She was thrust into a moving vehicle of some sort, still unable to see because of her blindfold, and waited patiently in the crammed compartment; she tried to ignore the queasy feeling in her stomach as the vehicle swerved in haphazard patterns and only managed to hold the contents of her stomach because there were no contents at all.

Isha had lost track of time by the time the vehicle slowed and finally came to a halt, indicating that her nauseous journey was over. She heard the door open and felt the unwelcome, frigid fingers seize her pallid arm and wrench her from the confined space she had been stuffed inside. Stumbling to her bare, frozen feet, she was forced forward on a stony street; she tried to ignore the jagged shards of rock that ripped into her skin as best she could, unwilling to let their torture get the best of her.

_There were many beginnings, but only one ending._

She wasn't just the beginning; she was the catalyst. She was the means, the channel, the vehicle to their destruction and nothing would stop her from her reign.

Except for fate of course.

* * *

Love and fluff,

Brontë


	11. Chapter 11

Swine flu sucks.

Now that that's out of the way...

An extra big thank you to: circa divide (I think a rollercoaster is a very good metaphor for the future of Uncharted), Varda-Elentari (Thanks for the get well wishes! I was dying to include Scotty somewhere and I hope his place in this story didn't seem rushed or completely out there!), Veglma (Naah, no younger brothers but I teach PowerSkating (which is like teaching hockey boys to be better skaters) so I kind of have about 70 younger brothers with sticks and blades on their feet! And who knows what kind of punches fate will throw at our new subplot!), MirrorFlower and DarkWind (Thank you for reviewing everytime! I appreciate it so much!), rebelwilla (I agree!), knp10 (Thank you so much! Your compliments mean a lot to me. I feel so crappy right now because my review count has fallen so low and I'm still so sick...but thank you for reviewing. You're inspiring!) and swamud3a (Holy twinkies I totally forgot about Keener! God I'm an idiot! Thank you for reminding me about him...I just watched the movie last night too, God I'm dumb! I had to mention Cupcake; he was definately the highlight of that movie! Oh my god...Rand. Don't get me started. I'm trying to have her redeem herself here! And thank you so much for the helpful review! I always look forward to reading your feedback!)

Please review. I know you guys are busy with school and work but that's all I ask.

* * *

**Part Eleven**

Despite the irony of the situation, Spock's mind was _not _laughing. But his body sure as hell was and he couldn't stop it any way he tried. It was almost as if his Vulcan instincts had completely shut down, leaving only the vulnerable and uncontrolled human side of him that he had been anxiously suppressing for most of his existence.

He felt like a basket case as he chuckled feverishly down the corridors with the worried looking engineer holding up his wilting side; Nyota had scurried ahead in order to clear out the hallways so that no unwanted eyes could size up the diabolical monstrosity that had taken over his Vulcan self. His onyx eyes were watering too much to see properly but he could tell that he was close to sickbay by the almost unnoticeable change in the hue of the lights, something only a Vulcan would be able to detect. He held on to this comforting thought as he was thrust through the doors of sickbay and lowered onto a biobed without any pomp and circumstance to complement.

"Good God."

Dr. McCoy, standing just beyond a closed partition, stood with his mouth and eyes gaping like an astonished, horrified idiot. Without dragging his stunned eyeballs away from the maniac squirming on his sick bed, McCoy snatched a hypospray, inserted the hypo and shoved it into the pallid skin of Spock's exposed neck.

All was silent.

Then chaos.

"What the hell is going on Leo? I-"

"How in the blazes would I know-"

"Can any o' yeh tell me hoow-"

"You're a doctor Leo, you should-"

"I _am_ a doctor Nyota, not a psychic-"

"Well you should-"

"Wouldn't tha' be helpful!"

"_**Shut up!**_"

Jim Kirk, candidly shirtless and gracefully overcome, emerged from behind the partition and stood like an iron seraph, legs parted, arms floating at his sides. His eyes were closed and his face reflective, the wisdom from another age flowing through the lines of his chiselled facial muscles and bones. His chest rose and fell unhurriedly and controlled, allowing the artificial light to glimmer off the lustrous surface of his skin. The butterscotch tones that once smothered his roughened features seemed almost paler, like winter snow on steaming, ochre pastry.

The three conscious officers were rendered speechless as the melodious order tickled over their ears. They stopped and stared in astonishment at the strange air surrounding Jim's tired silhouette and they were slightly taken back by the intensity churning in the bottomless oceans of cerulean as he opened his eyes.

"Two weeks ago, I made a mistake so stupid it might very well cost us our lives," Jim sighed deeply and let his shoulders crumble, revealing the frustrated and hurting persona he had tried so hard to smother, "Now I've got a part of him lost in the inner sub-reaches of my mind and vise versa. We don't know if it's reversible and even if it is, we'll never be ourselves one hundred percent again."

The crowd stood in silence with only the bleeps and buzzes from the various instruments humming along in the sick bay to fill the wordless void. McCoy shifted uncomfortably and gazed sidelong at the sleeping Vulcan, eyeing him up for the procedure he would have to proceed with at once.

"So...if you're turning Vulcan...then-" Nyota began, her eyes passing back and forth between her captain and the sleeping alien before her.

"Parts of Spock are turning human. Mostly physical things like hair, or physique. I mean," he walked over to Bones and wrapped his right arm around the doctor's trimmed waist, hoisting him upwards with obvious ease, "I can pick up McCoy here like he's a sack of potatoes."

"I resent that," the panicked looking doctor muttered dryly, waving his arms in hopeless protest, "Will you put me down now?!"

Jim dropped the doctor to the floor and walked over to the biobed, leaning on the metal cot with both calloused hands, "But obviously things have changed in us mentally as well." Jim gulped painfully and let his eyes wander along Spock's chiselled features, down the long line of his neck, across the tight fabric covering his rigid abdomen, along the muscular quality of his arms. He watched Spock's Adams apple vibrate along the vulnerable facade of his neck line, bringing Jim a sensation that started in his fingertips and moved through his blood stream like an injected drug.

"Is it...reversible?" Nyota asked quietly, drawing in her breath nervously. She fiddled with her hands before her as she followed Jim's line of gaze towards the sleeping Vulcan. Before Jim could open his mouth to utter a reply, Bones spoke up and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, unwilling to accept what was going on.

"I don't know. I don't know anything right now. We won't know until I can get a chance to scan his damn Vulcan brain and see what other horrors lie within." He drawled almost hysterically, stirring up odd glances from the three officers before him, "Why, in God's name, does this type of shit always happen to me!?"

"Relax Leo," Nyota said quietly, taking a step closer to the frantic doctor in an attempt to console him.

"No! This is fuckin' crazy! Demorians, mind melds gone wrong, you two beating the shit out of each other, what's next huh? Klingon mating rituals? A crazy Romulan battle royale? Throw me a bone here Jim! I'm a doctor damnit, not a protocol droid!"

"I know that Bones. Do you think that you're the only one whose about to rip their hair out here?" Jim asked, throwing his arm to the side in a weary gesture, "Do you think you're the only one ready to lose it under the pressure?" Jim sighed and dropped his head, sucking in a slow, calming breath. It filled his lungs and rejuvenated his tired body, purging him of the strange urge to strangle the cantankerous doctor beside him.

"Weel! If ye doon't need meh anymore, I'll be off!" Scotty exclaimed vicariously, unable to weather the coagulated tension filling the room like jelly. He bounded out of the room with a wave and a quick goodbye before beat-feeting it back down to his beloved engineering level. He rubbed the stress out of his temples on his way down the turbolift and tried his hardest to make sense of the mind-boggling turn of events. Ever the optimistic, he swallowed his anxiety in hopes that all would be resolved soon.

Meanwhile, Nyota had just scampered off behind the frustrated chief medical officer in hopes that she could help him with whatever treatment he was preparing. Jim let his arms collapse on Spock's bed and he rested his weary forehead on his forearms, channelling every strength reserve inside of him. He hadn't slept for over forty eight hours now and his body was beginning to feel it; the muscles in his thighs and calves trembled and ached for rest and salvation while his eyelids felt heavy and threatened to droop shut, never to reopen again. He tried his hardest to close off his mind from the physical torments he was feeling but only found worse pain in his mind, haunting him with his responsibility to his crew but his guilt and desire for his first officer screamed in protest; he just wanted time to pause so that he could be Jim again, the fun loving, belly laughing, carefree boy he could have been but never was.

The unsettling feeling of déjà-vu fell over him.

Was it that long ago that he was in sick bay near Spock's sleeping side, having a combat with himself over what he should and could have been? He squinted his already closed eyes and stifled a moan of frustration that threatened to tear apart the fibres of his very being, churning inside of him like rabid beast on fire. He just wanted to lash out, climb on top of Spock's sleeping form and kiss the soul out of him.

_He wanted it_. _He wanted him._

McCoy came out from behind the partition and wordlessly ushered Jim out of the way, positioning the octopus like object over the crown of Spock's head. Nyota popped a tricorder into its respective space on the scanning device and stepped backwards, gently dragging Jim away by the elbow. Her cool skin buried in the crook of his elbow felt oddly out of place as they stepped back behind the partition to let Bones do his work and Jim frowned at the feeling; since when did everyone seem colder to him?

Nyota brought him to a sick bed and Jim obediently propped himself against it, letting his eyes follow the hourglass lines of the linguistics officer's sumptuous curves. She sat down on a chair opposite to him and made eye contact with him, a hint of sympathy churning in their chocolaty depths.

"A mind meld gone wrong huh? You forgot to tell me that vital little detail last night." Nyota hummed wryly, curving one sculpted eyebrow in a distinct arc. Jim scowled and ran his fingers through his unruly, coarse feeling hair, unnerved by the new texture taking over his once supple tresses.

"I did for a reason." Jim replied grudgingly, looking away from his accuser. He bristled unconsciously and frowned, readying himself for the oncoming onslaught.

"Really? And does this reason have something to do with why he started compulsively laughing in the middle of the mess hall?"

"Just shut up Uhura. You have no idea what you're talking about."

Nyota rolled her eyes and smirked up at the fuming captain, "Must we go through this again Jim? I can read you better than a nursery rhyme."

"Whatever."

"So anyway," Nyota continued, unwilling to give up at the sight of the dejected captain before her, "Was this mind meld the thing that caused the brain switch?"

Jim grunted in reply.

"And you initiated it? How?"

"It's a long story."

"We have time. Alpha doesn't start for another half hour."

"It'll take longer than that."

"Stop procrastinating."

"Stop being nosy."

"Stop being a child."

"Oh for God's sake!" Jim exclaimed, throwing his arms up in defeat, "I'll tell you the goddamn story! Just stop talking!"

"With pleasure," Nyota replied with a smile, listening intently as Jim went on to tell the entire story from beginning to end. She barely managed to contain all the things that sprung into her mouth as his words assaulted her ears and it only got worse and worse as he continued his dim narrative. _Mindscapes? Human mind meld? How in the hell?_ Her thoughts ran frantic circles in her mind as she watched the gentle curves of her captain's lips, intent on processing every inch of the story he provided.

"So then I came to sick bay and lover boy over there told me-"

"Will you stop calling him that?" Nyota grumbled, letting her mouth go before she could stop it.

Jim huffed but kept his comments to himself, "McCoy then. He scanned my head, told me that I had parts of Spock's brain in my brain via a psychic connection – the mind meld – and voila! You three came in and now were all caught up."

Nyota sat in silence, taking all the information in; she knew enough about Vulcans from her previous relationship to know that they were the ones who initiated the mind melds and they only did so after careful consideration. So how the hell had Jim managed to pull this off?

Then one lonesome, terrifying, _concrete_ word came to mind.

_Bond_. And not the 007 kind.

Things were going to hell in a hand basket faster than she could think.

* * *

Sirens moaned raucously in the early morning air of the murky, grey planet; the dark clouds overhead reflected the millions of wailing red signals flashing like a strobe lights in the dreary hours of darkness. Enforcement vehicles flew all over the grimy city like a flock of mating insects, looking for a perfect place to relax their wings and procreate.

Except they weren't looking for the perfect place to set down; they were looking for the perfect place for a Romulan spy to hide.

Isha stood as still as stone in a crumbling doorway, praying to whatever otherworldly deity existed in her vicinity that her ship would find a way to fix its transporter soon. The dense, chemical clouds that covered the slimy planet after a thousand years of fossil fuel abuse were wrecking havoc on her ship's transporter triangulation device and though contact could still be made, she didn't dare utter a word to them now. If she did, by the time her ship's crew managed to beam her up, she'd be a corpse.

Her adept ears picked up on a pair of shouting voices to her right and she slunk deeper into the doorway, now completely shrouded in darkness. The two Demorian officers ran down the narrow alley and passed right by her makeshift refuge, gigantic rifles in hand. Her breath hitched as the sensation of fear passed and faded from her blood stream, leaving her limbs trembling and her heart pounding like hammering craftsman.

She closed her eyes and tried to block out the horrible images from the previous few hours; Senator Degrarg Kehghanha was a disgusting excuse for a humanoid and an even worse excuse for a sentient being. Demorian physiology had nothing on the grotesque senator whose grey, obese body was nothing like his lean, angular counterparts. Rotundness was a sign of riches and prosperity on Demoria but the senator took this to the extreme, looking more like a swollen grapefruit than one of his kin.

"_Suran, are you still there?"_ A familiar voice buzzed in her ear. She clicked her tongue once in reply and pushed herself further into the darkness, worried that someone might have heard, _"Good. We'll have you up here in a few minutes. K'Tol is just finishing up the last algorithm."_

Isha's heart jumped to her throat as she impatiently awaited her transport, hoping beyond all hope that time would speed itself upwards for her sake. Her legs began to tremble with the anxiety that was coursing through her like a shot of _Kali-fal, _driving her senses wild inside of her.

It was at that moment that she felt a slimy hand wring its grasp around her throat.

* * *

A little short, I know. But I'm dead sick so that's my excuse. Those of you who have had this god forsaken evil flu can relate.

Now please review! Because reviews are my chicken noodle soup!

Love and crying because I ran out of chicken noodle soup,

_Brontë_


	12. Chapter 12

Thank you to: Bubbly714 (No worries Allie! I'm just happy you're still reviewing! And thank you so much!), DapperDestruction (Oh, he's gonna do something crazy alright! And swine flu sucking nasty eggs is an understatement; more like it sucked stinky roadkill mixed with nasty eggs lol), SeverusPotterSnape (Join the club! And you'll see him react alright. Bwahaha!), Varda-Elentari (In the next few chapters, we'll be seeing a lot more Romulans so keep on reading!), MirrorFlower and DarkWind (Thanks again guys! You're the best!), Veglma (Oh, believe me it is! Haha Turning Vulcan! Lol that made me giggle. I'm glad that lifting part made you laugh! I thought it was pretty funny and I could totally see it happening. Thanks again for your review, they always make me laugh like a giggle beast!), circa divide (thank you so much!!), SpirkTrekker42 (Yeah...I had to throw that in. I couldn't let an opportunity like that pass me by!), -siarafaerie-101-miss (lol Jim would look like a moron with black hair haha!), Mariasha1977 (Yeah, yeah, I get it. Thank you for the feedback and the optimism! It's appreciated!) and swamud3a (Your reviews are always extremely helpful! The Romulan/Enterprise plots will converge soon so I hope you can wait a little bit longer. And I agree, the possibilities are endless which is driving me crazy! I have a million and one ideas and I can't decide which one to pick!)

Let the fireworks begin.

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

Tick, tock, tick, tock...

Jim drummed his fingers against the armrest of his command throne impatiently, staring out beyond the view screen and towards the Deia system with animosity clear in his eyes. Their task, other than retrieving deuterium, wasn't really clear at that point; StarFleet hadn't yet relayed their orders to the Enterprise and Jim was beginning to get antsy waiting. He kept eyeing Nyota over his shoulder but she shrugged every time, indicating that the order hadn't come in yet. He was worried; every time he tried to delegate the situation before him, only one awful word came to mind.

Remembering something from earlier that morning, he signalled to engineering using his private comm. and was greeted by Scotty's grime covered face grinning up at him.

"Aye laddie! What'll yeh be needin'?" the Scotsman chirruped light-heartedly, acting as if the sticky situation from this morning had never happened. Jim felt a wash of relief fall over him in knowing that at least one person wasn't talking about Spock's crazy outburst.

"Is Keenser there?" Jim asked, letting his lip turn up into a smirk, "I need the little guy for some handiwork."

"Aye captain!" Scotty spun around and though he disappeared from the picture, Jim could still hear him yelling, "Geet down from thare yeh stinkin' dunderheid! The captain wants yeh for some more sneakin' arooound," Scotty returned to the screen with a questioning look, "Thas what yeh want 'im fer right? More o' them sleekit hearin' devices aboot?"

"Yeah," Jim replied, now with a full on grin painted on his face. _If you're looking for a linguistical adventure,_ he thought,_ just go talk to a Scotsman._

"Aye laddie!" He disappeared from the view screen again, "Geet goin' yeh radge craitur!"

Within a few minutes, the miniature alien Keenser marched onto the bridge, muttering something or other and tugging on his uniform. Jim was slightly endeared by the sight of the little green creature in his ill-fitting uniform, looking oddly out of place against the bright white and blues of the bridge.

"Check the ceilings now," Jim said cryptically while pointing upwards, not wanting his unaware bridge officers to understand what he was talking about. After having been sneaking around the Enterprise for weeks now, unceremoniously ripping out microphones and transceivers and tossing them out of a space lock, Keenser knew exactly what the captain was going on about.

Keenser's Standard wasn't particularly good but he did manage to get the idea of bridge across, "Start in engineering and work your way up," Jim said, "Make sure you check the Jefferies as well, just to be sure." Keenser nodded eagerly and tried to bottle his enthusiasm; if there was anything he enjoyed more than antagonizing his slatty Scottish friend, it was climbing on things.

After Keenser's departure, Jim got up and strode over to Chekov and Sulu absently, staring out into the great void of the Deia system. There were three giant gas planets in the system that were relatively close to each other; Nyia was the closest one to the sun, followed by Geia and then Raia. The three planets were named by the vast group of aliens who occupied the forty moons around the middle planet Geia. Each moon was a province or state of sorts to the Gian people and they were all ruled by one democratic government on the largest moon. As of the latest news, the government had been attacked by an act of terrorism, sending the Gian civilians into chaos. The act of terrorism came from an ominous black ship in the sky, raining down streams of green and blue lasers that razed the ancient government buildings to the ground. Many of the witnesses had been ruthlessly murdered in the onslaught but those who survived breathed the one word Jim had been sorely mulling over all shift.

Demorians.

The Gia had just been inducted into the United Federation of Planets a year and a half ago and both sides were benefitting greatly. Many of the moons of Geia produced deuterium and spice, a very rare extract that enabled the user to temporarily enhance their physical abilities. The effects of the stimulant lasted for only a few hours but it was extremely useful for special opt teams, law enforcement squads and other Gian government controlled organizations devoted to the greater good. This made for a powerful alliance within the Federation and the Demorians wanted spice _badly_.

The Gian civilization had one slight flaw in the eyes of the Demorians; they mated with their own gender. Their reproductive systems were vastly different from most humanoid species and this made for great tension once Demoria was thrown into the mix of alliance planets.

The Demorians, faced with a compromise, decided not to compromise at all; if you can't join them, blow the shit out of them and take it over.

So they did. Or at least, that was what the majority of people within the quadrant thought. And Jim was no exception.

"Sir," Chekov said, waking Jim out of his reverie, "Do you tink someting is wrong wit ze communicators?"

Jim looked down at the youth and took in the startling look is his eyes. For a seventeen year old teenager, he had sure been through a lot, "No. It's something much worse than that," Jim replied grimly, seeing the look of understanding wash over the young boy's face. Jim sighed and leant over on Sulu's station, cocking his head over to face the edgy helmsman.

"Can't we just do something? We know who made this mess, why can't we go down and fix it?" He asked rhetorically, staring beyond Jim at the three multicoloured gas giants. They spun and spun like cotton candy on crack, changing colours as they rotated on and on. In a matter of minutes, a gigantic hurricane launched and disappeared on the closest planet Nyia, making Jim restless. A storm was brewing and he knew it, but he couldn't do anything about it. Not yet anyway, and certainly not now. He had a much more intricate problem on his plate before him now, mocking him like beseeching lips he couldn't taste. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he turned around and walked back to his seat, but not before eyeing the science station longingly, wishing that things had turned out differently.

* * *

The Romulan warbird T'Khol of the Romulan Empire rested inconspicuously in a crater on a distant moon in the Demorian system. The T'Khol's captain was initially surprised at the ease in which he penetrated the impenetrable Demorian's defence system. He entered the system practically undetected and quickly landed in the closest moon's crater so that they could whisk their spy into the hands of the war criminals before anyone noticed.

The people of Romulus and of Demoria had been sworn enemies long before the latter's alliance with the Federation but the recent coalition with the mass of united planets certainly hadn't helped the animosity wane away. The Romulan Empire was feeling exceptionally angry with the grey, spindly species after they offered the Federation their secrets to fuel cells and weapons, prompting the Romulans to go into all out attack mode for reasons only the leaders of the Empire understood. Romulans were an emotional, passionate race and their demonstrative enthusiasm for hating Demorians was no exception.

K'Tol was working furiously to say the least; she was tapping away faster than her fingers could manage, striking away at the command screen in front of her. Her mind was a whirlwind of algorithms in an attempt to get through the Demorian's toxic atmosphere so that she could transport their spy back home. Isha contained vital information that she could not remotely relay, making her a great asset to the Empire for the time being. And it was up to K'Tol to get her back, a responsibility she didn't want to bare.

"Ensign! I'll wrench your head off if you don't pick up the pace!" a gruff female voiced screeched from a room to her left, making the meek ensign feel incredibly claustrophobic. She gulped and continued on as fast as she could, hoping her oppressive supervisor wouldn't make good on her threat. She entered the last code and immediately the triangulation system narrowed down Lieutenant Isha Suran's location to the degree. K'Tol pushed the energizing button as fast as she could and watched in horror as a limb body materialized on the transporter pad.

* * *

The Enterprise remained at low impulse and floated impatiently around the minute Deia system, appearing to be a graceful star zooming across the sky from any sentient life below. But unlike the other stars in the sky, this one was bustling with life.

Nine hours had passed and still no word from StarFleet.

Jim got up from his chair and stretched out his shoulders, his shift on the bridge finally over. He bid the Beta crew good evening and debriefed his replacement, ordering him to call him immediately if StarFleet delivered their long overdue message.

Before retreating to his quarters, he called for the location of a particular miniature green alien and found him mussing around in one of the observation decks. He took the closest turbolift and walked towards the room on the far side of the ship, trying to suppress the anxiety churning in his stomach.

As Jim walked in, Keenser dropped from his perch on a metal beam and excitedly waved his captain over, pointing to a large white bucket sitting a few feet away. He muttered something incomprehensible and Jim stared down at the contents of the bucket in shock.

"Holy shit," he muttered, dipping his hand down into the enormous pile of little microphones and transceiver devices. He brought his body back up and turned to Keenser, who had already climbed back up into the ceiling, "How many levels have you covered?" The little alien bonked his screwdriver three times on a metal shaft, giving Jim his answer, "Seriously? All of these on three levels? Did you find any in the crew's personal quarters?"

Keenser popped out of the hole and hung upside down, looking very confused, "Was...me...go?" He tried to say in miserable standard, forcing Jim to use his tired brain in order to make sense of his words.

"I'll give you permission to search every residence once you've combed the rest of the floors. Scotty will just have to suffer without you." The alien grinned and made a little whooping noise before disappearing up the duct and crawling through it, making painful screeching noises that echoed loudly across the entire room. Jim half smirked as he walked out the door, wondering what would have happened to him if he hadn't met Scotty and his little green friend.

The ship's corridors seemed surprisingly empty for a late afternoon and Jim sought comfort in the solitude, attempting to find a little peace before being thrust into the eyes of his crew once again. His footfalls echoed faintly as he made his way through the interlocking hallways, shifting his eyes left and right for any signs of movement; he didn't want to admit it, but he was becoming a little paranoid.

Well...maybe that was an understatement.

Jim stepped into the turbolift at the end of the hall and leant against the blanched wall, enjoying the cool metal against the back of his neck. He was boiling; he felt like he had a fever but he sure as hell wasn't telling Bones about it, fearing that it would only earn him a couple dozen hypos in the neck. Rubbing the sensitive skin of his neck unconsciously, he stepped off the turbolift and started sauntering towards his quarters, nodding and smiling at the crew members that he passed. He received mostly nods and smiles in reply, with a few salutes sieving through and Jim thought it was kind of funny because he found it so weird.

He couldn't quite explain it, but he was feeling a little apprehensive about something; he couldn't decipher if it was from his paranoia or something far more sinister cooking up inside of him. As he marched closer to the doors of his quarters, he couldn't help but wonder what other strange quirks he had adopted from Spock either than his horrible hair and his extreme distaste for meat. He frowned at the thought of never being able to sink his teeth into a juicy all American steak again without craving a salad instead, which wasn't exactly what he had in mind when it came to a meal. He resolved that he would try some other form of meat for dinner that evening and tapped in the access code to his lodgings, not looking forward to the mountain of paperwork piling on his desk.

He strode into his room and was puzzled when he saw that it was in partial darkness, just barely lit. Sinister shadows danced a violent Argentine tango along the empty walls of his spacious room and Jim gulped audibly, trying to force away the nervous churning in his stomach. Just as he was about to call out and turn the lights on, a strong pair of hands grabbed his throat and yanked him into oblivion.

* * *

Painfully swallowing the bile in his aching throat, Jim awoke with an agonizing groan. He shifted in his position against the wall and cracked open his groggy eyes, seeing nothing but darkness before him. He lifted his aching arms off the ground and caressed the tender flesh of his neck, gingerly applying pressure to the two most painful points.

He had felt this bruise pattern before.

He pushed himself off of his perch against the wall and hauled himself upwards, simultaneously telling the computer to turn on the lights. The sudden flash of artificial radiance blinded him for a moment and he had to squint his eyes in order to make out the darkened shape across the room, sitting cross legged with a grin.

"I'm glad you could finally join me Jim." Spock said with a wicked looking smirk on his face; if Jim hadn't been so terrified at that moment, he might have found it incredibly sexy.

Spock got up onto his feet and strode towards Jim's crumpled form, still looking up at him in a torn mix of fascination and panic. Spock bent down gracefully and brought his stubbly face only inches away from Jim's and ran a slender finger beneath the rugged curve of his chin, "Shall we start where we left off?"

Spock brought his face away and laughed; it was a noise so entirely alien that it horrified the crumpled captain, still frozen in his place against the wall. His mind screamed at him to get up but his body wouldn't let him, leaving his trapped like a marble statue at the mercy of a god.

"I find this situation to be entirely intriguing. Here you are, maimed and hurt, lying helpless while I am standing here, strong and unhurt. Ironic, isn't it."

The calamity of the situation struck Jim. _Hard._

"Suppose that I violate your mind as you did to me? Does that frighten you?"

Jim didn't move.

"I suppose not. James T Kirk isn't afraid of _anything_," Spock sneered mockingly, shaking his head as if he were condoning him for some foul deed, "Well, that's all about to change."

In one fluid and terrifying motion, Spock brought his hand down upon Jim's face and wrenched it upwards, starring daggers into his cerulean eyes before slamming his three fingers against his cheek, forehead and temple.

* * *

You wanted a crazy Spock? You got him.

Love and fluff,

Brontë


	13. Chapter 13

Thank you for all the kind reviews! I'm so happy you guys enjoyed this turn of events; its only going to get even better!

A huge thank you to: MirrorFlower and DarkWind (haha yeah Spock is even more evil in this chapter!), circa divide (yeah crazy Spock is pretty scary but he was hella fun to write!), rebelwilla (Me too!), Bubbly714 (Thank you so much Allie! I'm glad you liked my inclusion of Keenser. A reviewer let me know that I forgot him and I couldn't resist acknowledging her request. Ah, your compliments make me so happy!), DapperDestruction (Poor Keenser, he's always swept under the rug. But I remembered him, hooray!), swamud3a (Thank you for pointing out those two issues. I fixed them and changed the simile because I really saw your point after you pointed it out. And I'll have you know that I research Scotty's brogue so much when I write him! It's murder but I have to do it for the sake of writing!), Veglma (lmao Axe crazy Vulcans are the best! And Spock would totally win. Will Jim be totally screwed up? You'll just have to read on and see!), SeverusPotterSnape (Thank you for still reading even though you like Naruto better! I don't even know what Naruto is [It's manga right? I don't really read manga except for Card Captor Sakura] but I'm sure its super cool!), Varda-Elentari (You're Argentinian? That's so cool! I love the Piazzola too! I'm a recreation ball room dancer and the Argentine is my favourite! And yeah, I'm a huge Star Wars geek and might have borrowed the idea from Mr. Lucas. Heehee!), -siarafaerie-101-miss (I love crazy Spock too. He;s way cooler than boring Spock!), and Stelmaria (agreed!)

I use a religious term in the chapter and I'm just warning you now for anyone who gets angry by these types of things. I only use it for the sake of imagery so please don't be offended, I'm not pushing religion in any way and I'm just using it for creative purposes.

And for those of you who wanted mindscapes, you're in luck! Read on!

* * *

**Chapter 13**

_Spock's heart was racing; this freedom, this reckless carelessness, this spontaneous insanity was everything he had learned to despise._

_And he loved it._

Humanity_, he pondered with a devilish grin, _is a violent, graceless thing. But one must embrace it in order to become powerful, to dominate, to rule.

_Spock had considered himself somewhat of a prude when it came to the intimate act of mind melding but that was before his transformation. He was reckless now and as promiscuous with his intimacy as Jim had always been. _

_Jim._

_Spock frowned and opened his eyes, taking in the mindscape before him. _

_He stood at the brink of an unfathomable canyon, plunging deeper and deeper until the bottom of the crevice almost disappeared in a shroud of shade. Spock was too impatient to linger until his eyes adjusted in order to see the floor of the massive canyon and turned around instead, eyeing the endless stretches of sandy ground behind him. The skies were dark and stormy and the air was dry; crafty dirt-devils spun across the barren grounds like threatening tornadoes in the Eastern skies. The wind howled ruthlessly around him and Spock had to cover his face with his sleeve so that the airborne sand didn't burn his face. _

_Growling, he stepped back towards the precipice of the canyon and scanned the walls for a passage towards a shelter in the rock. He found one a few yards away and gracefully hopped down onto the thin edge, following it along downhill until he was clear of the raging sandstorm above him. He gazed grudgingly at the sky and shivered unconsciously at the ominous clouds churning like vats of sludge above him, threatening to dump their load at any given moment. Snarling, Spock followed the dangerous route down further into the canyon in hopes that he might discover a cave to take refuge in._

_As he continued down the precarious ledge, his anger was stoked like a flame over and over again. Spock was well aware as to what game Jim was playing; he was trained to use it himself if ever a mind meld was used against him. The victim hides himself in a familiar mindscape until the threat is diffused; they would then attack the perpetrator ruthlessly until the captor is thrust out and unable to continue. Spock was surprised that Jim was able to pull this concealment technique at all; perhaps he had underestimated the Vulcan attributes Jim had obtained during their altercation._

_It was at this point that Spock decided to investigate the lower depths of the canyon in order to be prepared for any troubles he might face when he reached the bottom. He paused to lean over the edge and squinted his ebony eyes in an attempt to make out any objects at the bottom. As his eyes adjusted further to the near complete darkness, he was able to pick out a small river cutting through the rock and a glowing entity kneeling on its shores, flickering like a dying bulb in and out of existence._

_Spock sneered in satisfaction and picked up the pace in his descent, now knowing exactly where his prey had hidden. He would have been suspicious of its obvious location and would have taken precautions if he was thinking straight, but his newfound humanoid violence and unruliness was clouding his better judgement. Taking a chance, he sprung off the ledge he had been walking down and set down on the one protruding beneath it, landing perfectly on his feet like a cat. He eyed the glistening figure still a long way beneath him and licked his lips, knowing he was only mere minutes away from capturing his game._

_He continued jumping from ledge to ledge like an acrobat, never losing his balance or stride as he flitted downwards at an accelerating rate. The figure grew brighter and brighter as he gained more and more ground and he felt his blood pumping intoxicating adrenaline through his veins, a feeling he had never felt much of in his Vulcan years._

_But that was before his transformation._

_Finally, with a roar of triumph, he hit the bottom of the canyon and locked his eyes on the iridescent figure many feet ahead of him, kneeling at the edge of the surging stream. He strode over to it confidently, fervour and excitement burning in his core. The hunt had been formidable, but not nearly as cunning as he would have hoped, which was understandable for such an inferior being; parts of Spock screamed in hypocrisy but he quickly ignored him, unwilling to see the light when he was so close to capturing his quarry._

"_Did you really expect me not to find you?" Spock sneered, stepping into earshot of the gold entity, "Your attempt at _va'ne_ was pitiful."_

_The figure didn't move or run at all; it just continued to kneel at the brink of the flowing river in what seemed like meditation and this made Spock very angry. His blood boiled with furious frustration; why didn't his prey run away, giving chase? He wanted the hunt to be over with but the ease in which he had done so was almost anticlimactic. _

"_Why don't you run _shi-kar-tor_? Frozen in fear?" Spock laughed away the growing unease in his stomach and closed the gap between himself and the figure. It flickered like a candle in the wind, brilliant in the darkness like molten gold. Spock stared down at it with growing anxiety as he finally realized that he had been deceived._

_The figure of Jim was a hologram of sorts and Spock howled with rage, cutting through the figure of light with a furtive swipe of his hand. It flickered exultantly and finally disappeared, mocking the incensed Vulcan with the blinding spots that it left behind. He kicked out angrily and sent a shower of sand flying into the river, where the flowing water engulfed the particles like black, deadly goo. _

_Spock stopped his fit of rage to watch the strange churning river, his heart thumping fervently with a mix of fear and disquiet. It foamed and twisted like a great torrent of black quicksand, shiny like oil but treacherously viscous as well. He took a wary step back, watching the arsenic coloured water form into a great tidal whirlpool that threatened to engulf the entire shore around it. The jet black water came flowing in from both sides and Spock began to run for the closest edge, staring over his shoulder at the growing mass in fearful panic._

_Just as he reached the rocky edge of the canyon and began to clamber to safety, a gooey ebony hand wrenched Spock backwards, dragging him back into the mass of black liquid. Spock kicked and grasped for the ledge, squirming around valiantly in the iron grip of his captor but his efforts were hopeless as the edge slunk away. He flailed his limbs in vain as he was dragged into the glutinous, murky liquid and he reached upwards towards the churning sky with a futile cry._

_In his last moments above the gelatinous mass of darkness, Spock watched in horror as Jim's face emerged from a mass of clouds and laughed.

* * *

_

As lieutenant Suran was being rushed down the hall to the warbird T'Kohl's medical bay, Ensign K'Tol remained at her station in total and utter shock. The young prodigy from Romulus had never witnessed so much blood and horror in person but she had been told many times that the Demorians were capable of such atrocities for most of her life. Her anger trembled like an ogre inside of her, threatening to burst out of its mortal confines and wreck havoc on the disgusting grey planet and all the repulsive grey people living on it.

Furious, she strode out of the room and walked the path to sickbay, her eyesight tainted with anger and infuriation. If she were only a commander, or even a lieutenant, things would be different. People would listen to her when she thought up a great new theory for a weapon to destroy of the horrid planet and her people would accredit her for her remarkable demonstrations at the completion of the great machine. She had been dreaming it up for months now; a great ionic missile so potent, it could target the innermost surface crust of the planet and bury down into its core in less than five seconds, causing a great chain reaction of volcanic eruptions and seismic activity to occur. When the reaction was over, there would be nothing but a dead planet smothered in lava in the aftermath.

But no one listened, no one heard.

With a snarky grin, she resolved that her timid reign as an overworked ensign would be over. She would bring the plans immediately to the captain and if she refused, the Romulan Council themselves. They were conceited, power-hungry people; they wouldn't think twice at the prospect of a great, planet destroying device being used in their favour.

K'Tol strode into the medbay and her animosity immediately faded away to a distant part of her mind at the sight of the gorgeous lieutenant laying spread eagled on a surgery bed. Three medics were hovering over her with various instruments while nurses hooked her up to heart monitors and oxygen devices. Another nurse dolefully wiped the blood from her wounded body and covered her bottom half with a blanched sheet so that she wasn't still completely naked. Romulans certainly weren't prudes but it seemed like the right thing to do, given the situation; after all, the lieutenant had just sacrificed her body for the Romulan Empire in order to attain highly classified blueprints and strategy tactics. She deserved a little bit of respect, especially if she even survived long enough to relay the information.

Seconds passed like minutes and minutes passed like hours until Isha Suran's body was bandaged and left to rest in recovery, pending she was strong enough to awaken. The medics and nurses flitted away one by one until the medbay was left almost empty and K'Tol, having been hidden in the shadows, stepped forward into the sterile light towards Isha's sleeping soul. Though K'Tol didn't know Isha very well, she had been the only person to actively hold interest to K'Tol's extensive drafts on their way to the Demorian system and K'Tol had developed a sudden admiration for the injured spy.

After giving the maimed lieutenant's hand a quick, reassuring squeeze, K'Tol walked out of the medbay and towards her quarters, completely ignoring her duties to the rest of the ship. She paid no attention to the blaring sirens and the scarlet lights that bathed the hallways in the harsh tones and colours of red alert. She paid no heed to the sudden lurch that knocked her off her feet when her ship was attacked by enemy Demorian vessels. She took no notice of their sluggish jump to warp speed in an attempt to escape from the damaging onslaught. She disregarded every instinct inside of her when the main power in the ship turned off and the T'Kohl began to float without control across the never-ending window of the universe.

She grabbed her blueprints and plans; she prayed.

* * *

_Spock couldn't move; he felt catatonic, his recklessness finally smothered with his restraints. A part of him, the part that still convulsed wildly inside of him, wanted to rebel and explode from his darkened cell and take revenge on his captor; but the part of him that wasn't corrupted wanted only solace for his sins._

_He was having trouble describing his current location; he was still lost in the vast river of black, viscous liquid but he felt as if he was floating rather than sinking. He could breathe, which enraged him at the time more than it surprised him, but he couldn't break from the invisible shackles that kept him still in the mass of obscurity around him. It had felt frigid at first, like being dunked into a vat of icy water, but as the immeasurable amount of time ticked past, it began to grow warmer around him, caressing him like a heated blanket. _

_Spock tried to roll his stiffening shoulders but was stopped by the indiscernible chains that kept his still. The position he was stuck in was physically uncomfortable; his arms were perpendicular to his body and his legs hung beneath him limply, unable to flex or stretch. The only thing he could move was his head, which at the moment was hanging in front of him with his chin touching his chest. The clothes he had been wearing before were non-existent now and he was hanging stark naked, like a Christ figure without the animal torture. _

_His mind reeled in agony; he felt the anger and the wildness he had experienced before he was entombed as if it were an out of body experience. The sensation of regret flooded his veins and paralyzed him further, freezing his thoughts onto one image, one feeling. Jim's frightened, crumpled figure fixated in his mind in a never ending slideshow of guilt ridden horror, wrenching his core from the inside out. He let out a wheezing groan and his throat burned in agony, throbbing like he had just swallowed a shot of straight _k'vass_. _

_His mind was giving him the greatest torture he had ever endured, rendering him both the vanquisher and the prey in a clashing chorus of screams and howls inside his crowded mind. He just wanted it to end, he was sorry, he was anything he wanted him to be; he cried out from the cacophony in his mind and crumpled, his mental agony drowning out the wailing from his bones._

_He floated in a limbo of exhaustion and unconsciousness, his mind games with himself sucking out every ounce of energy in the stores of his body. He closed his weary eyes against the blinding darkness and let himself slip into oblivion, sleep, nothingness._

_Metres away, Jim's semi-iridescent figure lay like a beaten animal, holding his throbbing head in anguish. Everything, _everything_ that had gone through Spock's haunted thoughts had hit him with enough force to render him shattered, leaving him twisting like a mutilated snake on the floor in misery. He felt every degree of remorse that had plagues Spock's tortured mind and it was still staking out through his nerves like shards of ice, throwing him into a fit of spasming fits that drove him to the brink of insanity. _

_And then it stopped._

_Sweet, mind-numbing oxygen flooded Jim's convulsing lungs like a great flood, clearing his troubled mind in pure release; Spock's guilt was gone, leaving Jim able to get up and recover from the psychological assault. He heaved himself to his feet and staggered towards the limp body of his lover before him, Jim's gleaming aura of golden radiance lightning up the way. Spock's form was barely alight, silverish in hue but with a hint of onyx marring the diffused brilliance. _

_Jim stopped just before him and took in the ethereal glow of his bare, chiselled chest, his sinewy legs, his vulnerable neck. He didn't fight the desire that crept into his bloodstream like a fiery stimulant, sending shockwaves of hunger surging through his golden body. He dipped his head downwards, nearly grazing Spock's flesh with the lines of his jaw as he traced his eyes along the muscular taut of Spock's shoulders. He brought his face merely centimetres away from Spock's sleeping visage and angled his face by a fraction of a degree. _

_Jim brushed his lips against Spock's, pressing against the tender flesh soothingly and peacefully. Spock's lips felt cold beneath his but he paid no heed, capturing his bottom lip gently with his teeth. He massaged the lifelessness out of Spock's frigid lips with his tongue, sending crashing waves of coveting within him. He opened his cerulean eyes and willed Spock's to open his, dying for a glance from his smothering gaze._

_And gradually onyx met sapphire, silver met gold._

_Jim ran his golden hands down the length of Spock's body, indulging in every nook and cranny that his fingers sculpted and discovered. He snaked his hands back upwards and buried them in Spock's coarse, charcoal hair, indulging in the sudden freedom he felt in the moment; he had no explanation for the range of emotions coursing though him now and to be frank, he was alright with oblivion for the moment. _

_Spock was released from the confines of Jim's mind and floated to the ground, his lips still entangled with his lover before him. His aching arms were suddenly purged of all pain as he captured Jim in his possessive embrace, pressing him as close to his body as humanly possible. He felt his entire being reawaken as the iridescent light surrounding his body rekindled in a mixture of fire and ice, charcoal and cobalt, silver and gold._

_They shared one collective mind; their thoughts were each other's thoughts, their beings were a combined entity of colours and shapes. Their bodies melted into one unified force, one and the same, together and individual. Two parts of a whole shone like a mosaic in the darkness of the black abyss, swirling and amalgamating in a show of lights that could rival no other; a bond so inseparable that no force of darkness could tear them apart. _

_Jim wasn't sure whether he was still solid or whether he had melted into a puddle of precious metal; he didn't know where his feet or his hands or even his face was. All he knew was that there was an icy fire burning deep within his core that shot vibrations of electricity through him everywhere he was in contact with his lover before him, which felt like all over the place. He wasn't sure where Spock began and he ended in their mess of entangled limbs, sprawled against the floating infernal darkness that surrounded them like a blanket of midnight. He could still feel Spock's lips ravaging his like never before, with a passion so fierce that he forgot everything else in the world around him. _

_Oblivion had never felt so good._

_Jim finally broke the kiss and opened his cerulean eyes, gazing upwards Spock's glittering silver irises with amazement; he had never noticed the brilliant sheen that the Vulcan's human eyes took on in the light, making them more captivating than any other object he had ever seen. He saw the astonishment in Spock's stare and wondered if he was experiencing something similar, an enlightenment at the sight of his cerulean seas washing away the darkness in an upsurge of sea foam and sun flares. _

Jim_, Spock said without speaking, his thoughts clearly projected to the dwellings of Jim's thoughts. Jim brought his attention back to Spock's mind and acknowledged his name, _I am sorry.

Don't be, _Jim replied, dragging his eyes away from Spock's. He took a deep breath and noticed that their breathing was in harmony, together as one, _you're forgiven.

But I hurt you, _Spock insisted, feeling an outburst of human feeling begin to taint his thoughts again. Jim felt it as well and brought his eyes back to Spock's again in an attempt to calm him down._

And I made you go crazy in guilt Spock. It should be me who apologizes.

_They silently met at a moot point, eyeing each other with shared grief. Jim tried to shake it off but it was still plaguing Spock whose eyes had unfocused in a pain that felt completely alien to Jim. Without really thinking, he brought his hand up to Spock's face and placed his fingers against his cheekbone, forehead and temple with tender fingers, hoping the extra connection might soothe his belligerent thoughts. His motions were mirrored by Spock, who in turn brought his fingers to Jim's face, unknowingly acting because of their connection. _

_The bond was complete._

It was at this moment that, aboard the Enterprise, a floating ship was detected in dire need of assistance. The commander of the Beta shift ordered the bridge crew to come to the unidentified ships aid, unknowingly fulfilling his destiny in history.

* * *

_va'ne_ - hiding

_shi-kar-tor_ - prey

_k'vass_ - Vulcan booze

I couldn't write this story without having at least one crazy 'I'm going to blow up a world' Romulan in the mix. It's a theme I think.

Please, please review!

Love and fluff,

Brontë


	14. Chapter 14

The holidays are almost here! One more week of work and then I get two whole weeks off!

Thank you to: MirrorFlower and DarkWind (gotta love crazy Spock!), swamud3a (Phew! I'm glad you enjoyed the religious figure comparison. I'm merely spiritual myself (I refuse to tie myself to any religion) so I hope the more religious folk can understand that I meant to harm in it. But the godly imagery was delicious and I just _had_ to use it! I've never seen prisoners (I don't have a chance to watch tv and I don't have high speed internet) but I hope your comparison is complimentary! Thank you for the review; I always appreciate your words and critism), circa divide (lol I love you too! I'm so happy you could visualize it in your mind; the entire chapter played out like a movie in my head as I wrote it), Veglma (Oh yes, the Crazy!Romulan chick is coming! Love your reviews, they're always so halarious!), Ravenclaw Samurai (As you wish! Thanks for the review!), Stelmaria (As I stated above, I don't watch tv and I don't have high speed internet so no, I never have. But I hope the cliffhangers aren't detering you! And guess what? I wrote the ending of this chapter just for you!), Varda-Elentari (You live in Mar del Plata?! I'm so jealous! I did a project on him back in university and its always been a desire of mine to visit the origins of tango and go there (along with the rest of Argentina and Brasil) Lol you'll get to see more of Isha soon, I promise! Thanks for the review!), -siarafaerie-101-miss (Thank you so much!), YukiFurubaGirl (Haha! You read all of this in an hour? I'm so impressed! Thank you so much!) and Sharingan-Fer-Sure (Holy crap thank you so much!! Your review was so inspiring, I feel so honoured to have written something you consider so good! Eee!)

Thanks to wanderer for the review on chapter two.

I was expecting a few more reviews on the last chapter but that's okay because I'm up to thirty seven favourites now, which I think is insanely impressive! Thank you readers!

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

Ensign Pavel Chekov had been sleeping peacefully in his quarters when his comm. signal started blaring like an alarm siren in his room, jarring him from his deep, tranquil slumber. He flipped his wild, curly hair away from his tired eyes and leant over in his bed, tapping the little comm. device beside him.

"Chekov here," he declared jadedly, tousling his wavy brown tresses with his sluggish fingers, "If zhis is you Hikaru, I am going to give whole new meaning to Russian roulette."

"Err, no actually," an unfamiliar voice replied, "This is Commander Ford on Beta. I'm requesting your navigational assistance on the bridge."

Chekov groaned and collapsed back into his heap of bed sheets, cursing his overzealousness in StarFleet, "I will be right dere. Chekov out."

Griping fruitlessly, Chekov threw himself out of bed and onto the cold fabric floor. He didn't even bother changing out of his pyjama pants; he figured it was just a minor navigating issue that needed his attention and he wouldn't be there for long. Most of the beta and gamma shift had seen his bright blue pyjama pants more than once, being that he was always getting called up for petty issues that anyone with a brain could figure out, or at least that's what he figured. No one bothered to tell him that he was the only person, let alone the only adolescent, on the ship who could calibrate the navigation panel for ultra precise manoeuvres; a seventeen year old genius without an enormous ego was enough to handle.

He threw on his black uniform undershirt and left his golden jumper behind, unwilling to put in the effort of having to walk over to his dresser and pull his arms through its yellow sleeves. He did, however, slip on his black loafers since they were the closest thing to his feet and left the refuge of his quarters with a dejected, weary sigh.

The artificial lights made the pale, unblemished skin of his upper arms glow with an ethereal blush, appearing unearthly while he strode down the whitewash halls. His hair pounced merrily upon his head with the momentum of his gait, floating like a cloud of caramel whipped cream upon his brow. His black undershirt clung to him like a second skin, revealing every veiled detail of his chest and abdomen that rippled along his lean, muscular body. He rubbed absently at the faint stubble sprouting along the gentle lines of his jawbone as he stepped onto a turbolift, wondering vaguely as to what problem he would have to solve now.

He strode onto the bridge and was astonished to see Hikaru Sulu at his station, typing furiously on the panels around him with a bleak grimace plastered on his face. He glanced to his right and saw that Nyota Uhura was at her station as well, her hands plastered on her earphones in immense concentration. Notably absent was the captain and his first officer; Commander Ford seemed oddly out of place as he leaned warily on the captain's chair, an odd frown garnishing his troubled, crumpled face.

"Ensign Chekov reporting for duty sir," Pavel muttered self consciously to the commander, noting that Uhura and Sulu were in their full uniforms. Once Chekov relieved the ensign at his station and sat down, he noticed that Hikaru was wearing his bright green slippers on his feet beneath his panels. Hikaru glanced up at the underdressed ensign and quirked his russet eyebrows in amusement, leaning over towards him from his station.

"Where's the slumber party Pavel?" He joked with a semi grin, eyeing Chekov's bright blue pyjamas.

Chekov frowned and bitterly crossed his arms, "Hmph! Zhose are wery ugly slippers!" Pavel replied indignantly, somewhat offended by the insult to his vivid azure pants; he thought they brought out the colour of his eyes.

An impatient huff from the captain's chair hindered them from their argument, "Commander Spock, please respond," Ford said for the seventh time into his modest comm. device. He appeared to be becoming more apprehensive as every second passed, "Captain Kirk, please respond."

"Has their location been verified?" A lieutenant on duty asked, sharing Ford's look of uneasiness. The lieutenant glanced sidelong at the on-duty commander as he got up from his chair and shook his head with suppressed anxiety.

"Ensign Chekov, Lieutenant Sulu, Lieutenant Uhura, Yeoman Azul, Ensign Dyer and those of you that are usually present on Beta, we have intercepted an S.O.S plea from an unidentified vessel. We have now confirmed that this vessel is of Romulan origins."

The bridge crew collectively gasped; they glanced around at each other in apprehension, masking the uncomfortable memories that almost meant the end for them only months ago.

"As Federation officers, it is our duty to respond to any S.O.S plea and help in any way we can," Commander Ford sighed and checked his comm. signal again. Nothing, "I know this is a sticky situation for the majority of you but we have no choice in the matter. Until I can successfully locate and speak to the captain, I don't have the authority to belay the order."

Chekov cleared his throat, "But shouldn't we wait here for ze message from StarFleet?"

Commander Ford swallowed the uncomfortable lump in his throat and shivered unconsciously, "StarFleet has been compromised. We're on our own until..." he trailed off and checked the comm. device again. Still nothing.

"Until what commander?" Yeoman Azul asked warily, distractedly running her fingers through her jet black hair.

"Until we're caught," Ford replied with finality, shuddering as the inevitability of the situation struck him, "Concentrate on your tasks everyone. No further questions about StarFleet until Captain Kirk is debriefed."

Ford sat down again with a heavy sigh and Chekov dragged his widened eyes away, locking onto Hikaru's fearfully. Sulu swallowed anxiously and mouthed the one word he'd been dying not to hear.

* * *

K'Tol clambered to her feet, reeling under the metal debris that had fallen on top of her in the latest explosion. She gathered her blueprints and shoved them into an undamaged duffel bag lying in the corner of her ruined quarters, being careful not to wrinkle them too badly. She stumbled over the sharp shards of nickel and steel jutting from the distorted floor and ducked as a sparking set of wires dropped from the ceiling, hurling dangerous embers against the broken metal walls. She staggered towards the hallway in front of her and started dashing wildly down the narrow corridors towards the warbird's bridge.

Her agility kept her out of danger as she leapt over protruding splinters of braces and brackets and dodged sparking devices littering the passageways. She used all her strength to pull the automatic door apart that lead to the bridge and was appalled at what she saw. Bodies littered the hampered bridge and olive tinted blood had splattered haphazardly on the shattered walls like modern art. K'Tol felt sick to her stomach as she tore the lifeless captain's body off of its station and administered a S.O.S call on all frequency, hoping against all hope that her dead captain might have sent them in the trajectory of Romulus.

K'Tol spun around and left the desolate bridge as fast as she could, hopping over broken corpses and pools of blood. Her stomach reeled and she thought she was going to throw up; _all this blood and horror in one day_, she thought in revulsion to herself, _I must be dreaming..._

Scampering down the corridors once again, the horror-struck Romulan youth made her way towards sickbay. She tried to suppress the apprehension growing in her stomach when she didn't see anyone else in the devastated hallways whose hearts were still beating. She prayed silently to herself, hoping desperately that she wasn't the only breathing soul left amongst the dead.

Prying the sickbay doors open with a haphazard metal pipe, she heaved them aside and stumbled inwards, almost falling to the ground. She pulled herself upwards and scampered towards the sleeping body of Isha Suran, whose body was strangely unharmed from the crash. She seemed like an ethereal goddess, untouched amongst the wreckage surrounding her sleeping essence.

Letting out a cry of relief, the young Romulan ripped the busted monitoring equipment from Isha's marred skin and gathered the exquisite spy in her arms as gently as she could. K'Tol pressed a delicately pointed ear to Isha's abdomen and listened carefully amongst the electric explosions and creaking metal surrounding her, focusing on the steady beat of her heart. Satisfied with the stable throb, she spun on her heels and skittered back the way she came, looking wildly for a sheltered alcove in which to rest.

She blocked the tortured screams from her ears and kept running; she didn't _want_ to help anyone else. No one else had been kind to her; no one else _deserved_ her help. She did nothing to stem her anger as she carried the battered scout through the tattered corridors, her duffel bag of blueprints bouncing dutifully on her back. She _would _destroy those ugly grey sons of bitches, even if it was the last thing she'd do.

Revenge was a many textured thing.

K'Tol licked her lips with a grin that could trigger a supernova; it tasted delicious too.

* * *

"Welcome to another bi-weekly episode of The Captain's Guide to Demorian Conquest! Its business as usual with the tight assed grey freakshows and they're showing no sign of stopping...yet."

"They managed to capture the USS Trillian but left empty handed after a miraculous ship-wide evacuation. The gay and commanding female communities beamed off the ship and onto a class L planet only hours before the interception and although the ship is under strict investigation, our efforts have been rewarded!"

"It's about time somebody stood up to those bastards. I'm getting sick of hearing about captains letting their people die."

"That's pretty harsh Rachet. They're doing their best out there-"

"Hmph. They could do more."

"Anyway-"

"You know, I betcha Hitler would be proud of our hideous little friends."

"Ratchet!"

"What? It's like he's been multiplied a thousand times over and dyed grey. It's basically the holocaust all over again, without the religious connotations."

"But he didn't kill women."

"But he killed gays by the boatload! When are we going to do something about the Hitler of our generation?! We have to develop a plan, fellow listeners, and we have to do it soon. Whether that means an attack or something far worse, we've got to do something."

"Anyway, our grey skinned allies are raking through Alpha sectors 67 and 54 at the moment and have plans of going forward to Alpha 113 through to 116. They're getting awfully close to the Neutral Zone."

"Well, there has been talk of another Romulan infiltration. They managed to kill the senator of the southern quadrant and make off with some pretty incriminating information too."

"The warbird disappeared before total annihilation by the entire Demorian conquest. They don't like those Romulan buggers much do they?"

"I don't particularly like them either Weasel. They did try and blow up Earth."

Scotty snorted upon hearing this and sighed; it was lonely here in his little niche in Engineering without his little green friend. They always listened to the Rachet and Weasel segment of the underground radio show when it aired together and he found himself a little lonely, slumping over in his chair in thought.

The time for action had been lingering dangerously in his mind for a while now. He was having trouble with the entire concept of an action plan, knowing full heartedly that Rachet's plan included the destruction of the entire race. Scotty heaved an onerous sigh; he considered himself a peaceful sort of fellow and was having trouble grasping the idea of attacking another race, even though they deserved it, and wiping them out like the Vulcans. _I'm an engineer ye ken_, he told himself forcefully, _I mak shit goe faster, I doon't destroy folk! Even if they arre scunners..._

Scotty pushed himself from his perch and began to pace aimlessly, running various scenarios through his head; he was afraid to admit that he couldn't think of any decent plans himself. Contact with other ship ambassadors of the enigmatic insurgency Engineers for Equality was extremely difficult and dangerous; they could never be sure if their primitive radio signals were being infiltrated by unwanted ears so they kept contact to a minimum all together. He realized that they would have to gather together somehow in order to stand a chance.

_Take a stand_.

Scotty felt the determination brimming inside of him like a strong brew; it was time to construct a plan.

* * *

Spock ripped his fingers from Jim's clammy skin and scuttled backwards, panting furiously with wide, anguished eyes. He couldn't bring himself any nearer to the crumpled human before him, thrown against the wall like a soggy rag doll on the floor. Spock could feel the empty presence of Jim's thoughts in his mind and instantly panicked, thinking he was dead. Letting out a distraught cry, he clambered back to his captain on all fours and pressed his palm to Jim's chest; the steady beat of his heart pounded beneath Spock's trembling hand and he breathed a shallow sigh of relief, falling back onto his haunches.

The Vulcan in Spock was absent yet again to the lower reaches of his mind, but there was no longer any hatred lacing his impulsive actions. He grimaced instead and grasped Jim in his arms, hoisting him upwards with unearthly ease. He quickly rushed him to him bed and placed him gently along the firm spread of the mattress, unconsciously reaching for a drawer he had never noticed before. He opened it and to his bewilderment, found a damage mending device lying beside a small pile of folded socks. He snatched it from its passive position and turned the little contrivance on, vaguely wondering as to how Jim had managed to sneak one of these out from under the oppressive nose of Dr. Leonard McCoy.

He aimed the beam at Jim's red, swollen neck and swallowed the bile that rose to his throat at the sight. He was lucky his captain had attained so much of his Vulcan strength or else Spock would have crushed Jim's windpipe into dust. Spock reached up with his other hand and lightly traced over the healing bruises and angry welts, reeling in his mind over the damage he could have caused. He wretched his hand away and tried to gain back his Vulcan control, still haunted by the lingering human that crackled in his brain.

In the remote corners of his mind, Spock began to feel a tingling presence beginning to reawaken and he brought his attentions back to Jim's unconscious figure. He stirred slightly in his slumber but had yet to open his eyes, letting a small moan escape his aching, parched lips. He heaved his chest upwards with a great breath and slowly let it fall downwards, tossing his head to the side in futility. The reeds of Jim's essence began to filter through Spock's subconscious, not really in the form of thoughts but rather in feelings; they were strong and potent and entirely a part of his being, as if they had been there all along. Spock felt his own wave of agony as the captain moaned in pain, cracking open his grey eyes with difficulty.

"Spock..." he murmured almost inaudibly, staring blankly at the ceiling. Spock lurched visibly in pain; their bond was excruciatingly forceful in the pits of his damaged mind. He reached his one hand across his captain's body and leant over him slightly, struggling to make eye contact with those drab, lifeless eyes.

"Please Jim," Spock began, pressing most of his weight on his one arm and reaching up to his face with the other, running it through his tousled chestnut in anxiety, "Please forgive me for the pain I've caused you."

Almost painstakingly, Jim dragged his colourless eyes from their fixated point on the ceiling and pinned them against Spock's darkening charcoal orbs. The tension surrounding their cloudy hues relaxed marginally as he made eye contact with the terrified Vulcan, brightening slightly in the dim light of his quarters. With all the strength he could muster, he forced his vocal cords to work.

"I already have."

* * *

So, for the first time in Uncharted, I ended a chapter without a cliffhanger! So get ready for the next chapter guys; I have a feeling its going to be crazy!

Review, review, review my friends! Your words are so inspiring and kind and they keep me writing faster!

Love and fluff,

Brontë


	15. Chapter 15

I'm so incredibly happy! My reviewers are AMAZING! You guys are absolutely stars and I wish you all a very Merry Christmas (as it's what I celebrate) and the best of the season to those of you who don't!

Thank you to: Stelmaria (You're welcome! I hope you like this one too!), swamud3u (Yeah, Uncharted has definately sprung into plot driven mode now. I'm glad its making you tingle with anticipation because I'm absolutely reeling with excitement from the next few chapters! Thank you for your review as always, they're extrememly helpful and absolutely inspiring!), MirrorFlower and DarkWind (thank you for your constant reviews! I love to know that you're still reading!), BeyondxHatred (Thank you so much! I'm so happy that you like Uncharted that much! I totally got the tingles reading your review. Hope to hear from you again soon!), Veglma (Yay scotty! lol), Bubbly714 (Thanks Allie! I always love to hear from you!), circa divide (It only gets better [hopefully] from here!), shatfat (thank you for the multiple reviews! Yeah I completely bypassed the whole Romulan government crap, it really isn't important in my plot, oh well. Your metaphor about the characters poised upon the board really got me thinking too...thank you for the inspiration!), icefalcon5767 (Thank you so much! Your compliment was really inspiring and I thank you for it!), shadowstar-gzan (I love hearing about people who just read Uncharted all at once and then tell me about it! It makes me laugh. Thank you for your compliments!), Tusk Of Thyme (HA! You got that eh? The entire second splice of this chapter is totally dedicated to you and your review! Like crocket? Fuck no! hahaha!!) and animeangel2439 (This is the greatest review I have ever gotten in my life! lol you're the best! I hope to hear your hilariousness again soon! And holy crap THANK you!)

I don't know about you guys, but I think its about time to start the climax...

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

Dr. Leonard McCoy compulsively threw a PADD against the opposite wall of his office and sighed despondently; the random outburst of violence made him feel considerably better but the relief was short lived. He ran his fingers through his chestnut hair and cupped his cheek in the palm of his hand with a dejected, growling moan, distinctively remembering every word the destroyed PADD had singed into his frontal cortex.

"Dr. McCoy?" Nurse Chapel asked quietly, poking her blonde head into the belligerent doctor's office with obvious reservation. Bones grunted in reply, "Err, Commander Ford just ordered us to transporter room three."

Bones furrowed his eyebrows, "Where's Jim?"

"I don't know," Chapel replied quickly, "But we should probably get going."

Bones got up from his chair and stretched his aching back with a tired yawn. He motioned with his hands for Chapel to get going and he soon followed suite, snatching his medical bag and his mug of black coffee from a biobed near the doors. He skulked out of the room with a disgruntled mutter about the ungodly time of night and headed towards the nearest turbolift with Chapel and two other nurses behind him. The rest of the medical team was getting roused from their beds at the moment, readying to report for duty once the injured had been transported and ushered down to sickbay.

Stepping into the turbolift, Bones finally let the seriousness of the situation penetrate his dense skin; a heavily damaged Romulan warbird was floating off the Enterprise's port bow with a transwarp signature indicating that it had come from somewhere near Demoria. Did this Romulan ship have something to do with StarFleet being in shambles? Bones didn't know and frankly, he was a more than a little anxious to find out.

The turbolift ended its relatively quick journey and the doors slid open before McCoy's turbulent eyes, allowing him to exit the cramped compartment with great haste; _death traps_, he thought to himself sullenly, glaring back at the closing doors with apprehension. He then strode down the brightly lit hallways and squinted his eyes in an unconscious effort to pretend he was sleeping, with darkness and toasty sheets all around him. He didn't like being up this early for any medical emergency, especially if it involved a bunch of green blooded, planet destroying, psychologically insane Romulans. He wasn't quite sure if he even knew how to heal them at all, especially after rummaging around in Spock's half dead torso.

The halls were unnervingly empty and Bones felt immeasurably ill at ease. Where was Jim? Where was Nyota? Bones shivered unconsciously and hoped to all that was holy that she wouldn't be sent on this search and rescue mission; he liked his women without giant phaser holes in their chests thank you very much.

McCoy repositioned the strap on his shoulder and continued on down the corridors of his ship with trepidation; the unanswered questions streaming though his troubled mind were starting to bother him. He paused at one of the ship's databases and gave it a wavering glare.

"Where's Captain Kirk?"

"Captain James T. Kirk is currently not aboard the USS Enterprise."

Bones dropped his bag and _ran_.

* * *

"An 'ere's to ye bonnie young lassie ah love! Ye bonnie walls arr so shiiinyyyy!"

Scotty was, in all probabilities, quite drunk.

He was, at the present moment rummaging underneath a displacement manifold as if it were a cadaver, with a greasy screwdriver in one hand and a bottle of highly seasoned scotch in the other. He took a long swig of the amber coloured poison and started singing again, fiddling with a power converter and swearing at it simultaneously. He had abandoned his scheming long ago and took up drinking instead, finding himself much more depressed about the current situation at hand then he usually would. He started smacking the heel of his boot against the hollow metal floor as a distraction for some sort of offhanded beat to his raucous refrain.

"Ye cannae mak whiskey an tha's alrigh' cuzz ah love teh muck arround in yer crannies!"

He was forced to end his jingle when his comm. device started blaring, forcing Scotty to drag himself out from beneath the manifold station; he crawled over to his desk, lumbering over to the annoying device like the inebriated soul that he was, still humming his little tune to the Enterprise over the grating siren's wail.

"Scotty 'ere! Wha de ye waant?"

"Err...lieutenant Scott?"

"Thas whut I said, ye nyaff puggie! Who else would be 'ere, tinklin' doown in de murk o' de gaileys?"

"Uh...yes."

"Do yeh got some tatties wit yeh? I'm starvin'!"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Are ye daft laddie? Ah speir tae fer some scram!"

There was a distinctive silence on the other side of the comm. and Scotty took a long swig of his warm scotch, momentarily forgetting he was talking with anyone at all. He collapsed into the nearest chair and began to wave his screwdriver wildly in the air, flailing the instrument around like an awful conductor.

"Look, err...Mr. Scott, we've got a bit of an issue up here-"

Scotty was sluggishly drawn back to the present and stared wide-eyed at the comm. device; it was _talking_, "Who arre ye anyway?"

"This is Commander Ford on the bridge and we need your assistance on an away mission to a damaged vessel."

Scotty's interests were piqued, "An away mission ye say? Do ah geet teh tinker wit som' o' her wee engines?"

"In a matter of saying," Ford replied hesitantly, "Yes. There are lots of engines for you to 'tinker with'."

"Fantastic!" Scotty beamed, jumping to his feet and chucking his screwdriver behind him simultaneously. It landed with a horrible screech somewhere near the torpedo mainframe and jangled down a Jefferies tube, clinking and clanking like a dying robot until it hit the bottom, "When do ah start?"

"Well, you can start off by making your way to transporter room three. You'll meet up with the rest of the officers and await further instruction there."

"Be therr in ah jiffy laddie!" Scotty exclaimed, extinguishing his connection to the commander on the bridge. He snatched his cheerful bottle of scotch and emptied the remainder of its contents into a mickey he had just fished out of his sporran with a silly grin, spilling some of the pungent liquid onto his steel bureau. He took a quick slug and tightened the metal lid, throwing the silver container back into the little bag with a happy little whoop. He then strode out of his little niche in Engineering and sung a little song about the Enterprise along the way, conveniently forgetting that he was still walking around in his black and white tartan skirt.

* * *

"Pavel, remind me to buy you a bottle of vodka if we make it out of here alive."

It was a six man team; Sulu, Chekov, Scotty, Ensign Dyer and two red shirts stood armed and ready for just about anything. The Romulan warbird they had beamed into was a destroyed hunk of molten metal, twisted and coiled out of proportion like a winding steel rosebush. Sparks flew out of crevices everywhere along the ruined corridor they had beamed into, giving the willies to just about everyone on the team with the exception of Scotty, who found the situation all too amusing.

"Weel, what arr yeh waitin' fer? The faster we geet them radge scunners ooff this wee ship, the faster ah can geet back to meh drinkin'!" Scotty exclaimed, wobbling slightly as he took a step forward, "Noo get goin' before ah gie yeh laldie!"

The five other men nodded vigilantly and scurried off ahead of the raging Scotsman without another word, all of them significantly worried about the sanity of their chief engineer; he _was_ driving their ship after all.

Sulu and Chekov ventured just behind the team of red shirts up ahead and shared a similar glance of apprehension, "How many life signs now Chekov?"

"Dere are only four on zis floor. Dere are a few more on ze floors above us but ze rest of zem are dead," Chekov replied, ducking instinctively when a spitting set of wires came flying down from the ceiling. Sulu threw himself to the ground as the sparking snake swung itself towards him, taking Chekov's crouched body down with him as the cables dangled back and forth like a pendulum. Chekov nodded at him in thanks as they pressed themselves to the ground and Sulu gave his shoulder a tight squeeze before flipping himself onto his back with his phaser in his hand. He shot a beam of light towards the top of the igniting serpent and kicked Chekov in the back, rolling both himself and the young navigator out of harm's way in opposite directions. The huge cable fell with an echoing thud to the ground, spewing a few lasts sparks before dying in a mass of burnt rubber and steel.

"You alright Pavel?" Sulu called, clambering to his feet with his phaser still glued to his palm. He rushed over to the crouching pile of gold and was relieved to see his blue eyes shining back at him, wide-eyed with terror. Wordlessly, Sulu helped him to his feet and they continued down the hellish hallways, Sulu keeping a protective watch on the young navigator with a mix of defensiveness and worry; he didn't know why Commander Ford had sent Chekov on this mission, having no combat experience, but he was going to have quite a bone to pick with him when they got back, if they got back at all.

Keeping one eye on his PADD and the other on the road ahead, Chekov lead his team of two towards the location of the survivors on the floor. The four survivors were all in the same sector of the ship, leading Chekov to believe that this was a place where the least damage had been taken. He waved for Sulu to follow him as he made his way through a very narrow corridor, trodden with twisted scrap metal and broken panels. Wires were sparking absently from the broken ceiling tiles and Sulu gulped apprehensively, stealing a glace from the navigator's PADD.

"Is this the only way there?" he asked sullenly, eyeing the passageway with increasing concern. A truss from the ceiling crashed to the floor with a horrible screech, sending tremors of fear coursing through the helmsman's body.

"Da," Chekov replied, meeting Sulu's frightened eyes with his own, "It's ze only way to save zem Hikaru."

Sulu grunted, dragging his eyes away from the innocent baby blue of Pavel's, "For what? For them to kill us? Maybe they'll try to blow up Earth after we save them!"

"Don't say zat," Chekov replied quietly, "Zey can't all be like Nero."

Sulu snorted, "I find that hard to believe."

Chekov threw him a fleeting glance and sighed, "We're on ze same side, ze Romulans and us. Maybe zey can help us."

"I doubt it," Sulu replied, dragging his eyes over the ceiling warily. Two fervent hands gripped his shoulders and turned him sideways, forcing him to face the zealous navigator once again.

"Have some faith Hikaru! We can't just leave dem to die!" He found himself absorbed in Chekov's bright turquoise eyes and finally relented, knowing it wasn't up to him to play god. He turned his head back towards the perilous passageway and gave a quick nod, acknowledging Chekov's point. The young navigator released his shoulders and they both set foot into the hazardous hall with hardened expressions, their eyes peeled for any sort of movement. Chekov clung to Sulu's forearm unconsciously as they clambered over broken trusses and sparking panels, wordlessly professing their fear of separation through the contact of their skin. They met each other's eyes as the young helmsman helped Chekov under a broken ceiling beam, both of them distinctly becoming aware that they were no longer alone. There was somebody near them, watching them, and they both felt a sudden tremor course through their bodies like an electric current.

They froze like statues beside the broken beam; Sulu's heart was pounding like a swell of drums in his chest, deafening him to his surroundings. The hairs on the back of his neck rose instinctively, his sympathetic system slicing away at his nerves like a shard of ice. He was chilled to the core, his mind numb with panic; he grasped the young navigator and pulled him closer to his body to protect him, his defensive instincts overriding his logic. His eyes darted back and forth, behind him, in front of him, and still he kept the terrified Russian pressed against his side, the terrified Russian who wasn't trained for these types of missions. The anger within him flared again, blinding him for an imperceptible moment.

It was all _she_ needed.

* * *

K'Tol stood over the young human's body as if she had just claimed a new continent, her eyes flaring with pride and ferality. She snatched the phaser from his limp hands and aimed it at the cowering human now backed into a corner in front of her, muttering in a language she had never heard spoken before. Momentarily curious, she listened to the graceful words that streamed from his pink lips and came to the conclusion that it must be some form of Earthly prayer.

"Who are you?" she commanded, her voice raspy and sharp. The young adolescent shuddered and stared up at her with fear overflowing from his eyes.

"I...I am Pavel. P-pavel Chekov," he managed to stutter, his eyes darting back and forth towards his fallen friend and the vicious Romulan towering over him.

"Okay Pavel," she said quietly, her pride suddenly evaporating. She found herself drowning in the baby blue of his eyes; he saw herself in the youthful sheen of his damp forehead and the terrified pout of his arid, parched lips, "How did you get here?"

"We...we heard y-y-your S.O.S. and...and...and zen we came!" Chekov stammered, bringing his feet closer to his chest in self preservation. He stared wide eyed at Sulu's unmoving form and tried to swallow the panic that was beginning to overtake his senses; the worst case scenario began to flood mercilessly through his thoughts.

K'Tol followed his fearful gaze, "He's not dead. Just unconscious," she bent down and squatted on her haunches in front of the young Russian and looked downwards towards her slippered feet, the guilt beginning to swell in her heart, "I thought you were the enemy. I was afraid."

Chekov dragged his eyes away from the dark crown of Sulu's head and watched her compassionately as she collapsed onto the floor in a heap of tears. Compelled, he brought himself onto all fours and crawled over beside her, placing a cautious hand on her shoulder. He knew what it was like to be afraid, to feel fear. He rubbed her back gently and waited until she had rode out the worst of her sobs before bending down to her level.

"Eet is alright. We are here to save you now," he whispered quietly, letting a miniscule smile to grace his dry lips as she met his cyan eyes in wonderment. The intensity in her irises was incredibly turbulent; he felt his heart shudder at the passion that sweltered within them and he let out a small breath as a shiver racked through every artery and vein.

"Isha," she whispered almost inaudibly, "My friend. She is incredibly hurt. Does your ship have a doctor?"

"Da. Yes. But first I need to help my friend," Chekov clambered to his feet and walked over to his fallen comrade, kneeling beside his crumpled figure. He rolled him onto his back and lightly patted his cheeks in an attempt to wake him; the helmsman stirred and opened his charcoal eyes with a disgruntled groan, squeezing his eyes shut in agony, "Hikaru! Are you alright?"

Sulu groaned again and wrenched his eyes open, slowly focussing his eyes on Chekov, "What the hell happened?"

Chekov looked behind him towards the injured Romulan, lifting the corners of his mouth in an encouraging smile, "One of ze surwiwors zought ve were ze enemy."

"Did it have to nearly break my neck?" Sulu muttered, using Chekov as leverage to get into a sitting position. He gazed at the wide eyed Romulan apprehensively before getting to his feet again, brushing the black dust from his golden shirt.

"Please," the young Romulan rasped desperately, boring into Chekov's forgiving eyes, "We must save her."

Within a matter of moments, the two officers were following K'Tol through the rest of the fallen debris and towards a plank of metal that had been wedged between two doorways. It appeared to have taken the form of a small refuge and Chekov soon saw that there was an unconscious form sprawled out underneath the sheltered cranny. Immediately, he went to the limp body and pressed a finger to her neck, finding a slow, but steady pulse. He gathered the bandaged woman in his arms and shared a knowing glance with Sulu, who immediately knew what to do.

"Enterprise. We have four to beam up," Sulu gave a quick nod to Chekov before proceeding, "Energize."

* * *

Nyota Uhura was just short of having a panic attack; she had never scampered down the narrow hallways of the USS Enterprise so fast in her life. McCoy's only words echoed painfully in her mind as she dashed down the corridors in her black heeled boots, her hair soaring out behind her like a molten onyx flag.

_Jim's not on the Enterprise. Find him._

Nyota screeched to a halt at Spock's quarters and keyed in the numeric password. She already knew the code by heart from their prior involvements and stumbled inward, surveying the uncharacteristically messy room around her. She stepped in with caution, eyeing the haphazard clothes and PADDs with growing apprehension. _Did something happen to Spock?_ she thought to herself anxiously, nudging a heap of uniforms to the side with her booted toe. She glanced sidelong at the bathroom door and strode over to it vigilantly, pushing the metal door open with a gently thrust.

_Empty_.

She spun around on her heel and left the commander's quarters as fast as he stilettoed boots would take her, leaving her out into the brightly lit corridors. She tried to calm the tension kneading at her stomach like a madman but found it impossible after the warzone she had just witnessed. She couldn't figure out what could have caused the mass chaos within the usually impeccably clean room and hoped to all that was holy that he hadn't been kidnapped or taken hostage with the captain.

She scuttled over to the closest panel and requested the commander's location and her worst fears were confirmed.

Swallowing her panic, she ran to her captain's quarters; if there had been a struggle in Spock's room, there was bound to have been one in Jim's as well. She was completely unsure of his password and tapped in the first thing that came to her mind.

_One, two, three, Kilo India, Romeo, Kilo._

She wasn't even remotely surprised when the door swooshed open at her last command.

The young xenolinguistics officer stepped into the darkly lit room and strained her eyes to see the darkened shadows before her; she saw one dark splatter of ink in the darkness looming over Jim's bed and she immediately moved into an offensive stance, launching herself at the figure with an anguished cry. She collided with the solid silhouette and knocked it over with ease, sending it thudding to the ground like a thunderstruck tree.

"Computer. Lights, one hundred percent."

Nyota just about swallowed her tongue.

"Son of a bitch Uhura," Jim moaned, clamping his blinded cerulean eyes shut, "What the hell was that for?"

Nyota stared, "I...I...I thought-"

"Lieutenant..." Spock muttered, hauling himself into a sitting position, "That was exceedingly painful."

"I'm so sorry Spock! I didn't mean to-"

"To what, stab him in the kidneys with your boot?" Jim let out a little laugh and glanced down at Spock's sprawling form, "You gotta admit Spock, that was pretty funny."

The Vulcan threw Jim an irritable glance and rose to his feet, his elusive steady finally returning to his jostled mind and rerouting his logical subroutines after being dormant for so long. He revelled in the sudden familiarity within his subconscious and felt his strength pool within him once more, rushing through his muscles and veins like a burst of adrenaline. He folded his hands at the small of his back and raised one of his sculpted eyebrows, eyeing the linguistics lieutenant before him.

"Your humour is incalculably depraved Jim. As for you Nyota, I suggest you endeavour to 'look before you leap' in the future."

Nyota looked confused, "Did you just make a joke Spock?" She shook her head and ignored the unusual turn of events, "Nevermind. We've got much worse things to worry about."

Jim swung his legs off of his bed and rested his weight on his arms, his back hunched with stringency, "What do you mean?"

Nyota flicked her hair behind her back and tried to suppress the panic beginning to swell within her, "We haven't been able to make contact with you two for hours. You don't register as even being on the ship!" Jim and Spock threw each other knowing glances and Nyota ignored it momentarily, unwilling to break her wistful tirade, "We ran into a Romulan vessel in need of our assistance and because none of us could reach you, we had to board the ship! The on duty commander didn't have the authority to belay the order because only you have the authorization. And now we learn that StarFleet has been compromised, Demoria is in chaos and their entire fleet is now on the loose, looking for a Romulan vessel that just so happened to be carrying a Romulan spy who managed to kill Senator Degrarg Kehghanha and make off with some information that would ruin the Demorian Empire if it were leaked. And funny enough," Nyota started laughing as she neared the point of hysteria, "The ship we are in the midst of rescuing has a warp signature that indicates that it just came from Demoria! So basically, to put things into perspective, we're going to die!"

Jim and Spock exchanged glances once again, sharing similar apprehensive feelings. Jim could feel Spock's concern swell within him and he tried to block it out as best he could, knowing that he wouldn't be able to think straight if he didn't learn how to push the Vulcan's emotions from his mind. He brought his calloused fingers to his temples and rubbed them gently, trudging through his mind for some sort of plan.

"Are there any survivors on the Romulan ship?" Jim asked, raising his had to meet Nyota's chocolate eyes.

"To hell if I know!" she cried in semi insanity, "I've been off the bridge looking for you two for the past god knows how long!"

Jim took that as a no and met eyes with his stoic first officer, seeing the resolve brimming in their onyx depths. He pulled himself to his feet and strode to the doorway, ignoring the aching protest of his muscles and joints. At the brink of the doorway, he stopped and looked behind him at his two officers with a gleam in his eyes, like the sparkling sunlight on a frothy shoreline.

_This day, equality will reign. _

_This day, we fight.

* * *

_

Please review my amazing readers! You guys are the best in the world!

If you haven't already checked it out, I put a new story out called _Ice._ I'm so excited by the response that I've gotten from it and I can't wait to hear from the rest of you!

Love and fluff,

Brontë


	16. Chapter 16

Thank you to: BxH (Oh geez, I blushed when I read your review! Thank you so much and I hope this chapter lives up to your generous expectations!), MirrorFlower and DarkWind (You'll see why in this chapter! I hope you had a good holiday too! Thanks!), Veglma (Lol i was completely lost at bubblegum but I still laughed like an idiot reading your review! Thanks!), calipalace (I feel like I should ask you out for dinner after that review! Thank you so much for your extremely kind words; I'm honoured!), swamud3a (Thank you for your review again! I hope you got my reply and kind of cleared up where I was coming from with Uhura), circa divide (thank you so much!), SeverusPotterSnape (you forgot about it? Oh no! Well get back to reading it and when I get a chance I'll review yours in kind), Sharingan-Fer-Sure (haha I'm glad you liked drunk Scotty! He's my favourite character to write! And thank you again for your kind words!) and One Winged Royko (I'm so happy you're feeling what you're feeling because that's exactly how I feel about these issues as well. I could tear some of the worlds' bigots a new one! You seem very wise for your age! And thank you so much for your the compliments you gave me, I feel so honoured to have Uncharted considered as "one of the bast damn allegories [you've] ever read"! Thank you for your love!)

Also, somebody PMed me about this so I'll mention this to everyone: I spell weird because I'm CANADIAN. Canadian and American spelling is a little different (neighbour vs. neighbor) so I'm sorry if that makes your inner grammar nazi very angry! I can't help it, eh!

Uncharted is on the final stretch guys! This is a huge information chapter and just a taste of the action that's about to come hurtling your way!

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

"You know Kirk, it's always a pleasure to hear from you but at three in the morning? Really?"

Kirk snorted and ran his calloused fingers through his sullied, muddled locks, "Sorry Bill. Desperate times call for desperate measures."

The man on the other side of the screen looked away solemnly and cupped his cheek in his palm, "You're telling me."

One by one, the twelve captains of the various Federation class ships still untouched by the Demorian's filthy claws materialized on Jim's comm. screen before him in a slew of squares in what would soon be a very chaotic conference call. Jim watched with troubled eyes as the various men in action sat down before their comm. screens, some of them with their overthrown female captains sitting beside them and others with their first officers standing dutifully by their sides. They all wore the same grimace upon their worn faces; all of them knew the time had come for action.

They were just waiting for the catalyst.

Jim felt almost naked without his own first officer by his side; the dormant presence of his being stung impatiently in his head like a buzzing bee and Jim tried his best to suppress the various feelings that kept flowing through the floodgates of his mind. He was, however, relieved to know that he could almost directly contact his second in command without a word, knowing he would come straight to his aid if he sensed Jim's distress. Spock was on his own now, as was Jim, riding this uncertain upsurge that was only the beginning of the end.

At last, the final captain settled in on screen and laced his perturbed fingers before him, indicating that the call could officially proceed. Jim cleared his throat, eyeing all of the men and women before him apprehensively; he never liked chairing these types of meetings, knowing first hand that he was going to get his ass handed to him on a platter more than once because of his young age. His stomach churned anxiously, reluctantly discerning that this could very well be the longest night of his life.

"I apologize for the early morning wake up call," Jim said, flashing them his winning smile; a few of them chuckled darkly, unable to not fall victim to his undeniable charm, "But we all knew that this was going to happen sooner or later."

"StarFleet is in a mess," Jim continued, eyeing every single one of his equals with the authority of a man on a mission, "None of us have gotten an official message from Earth in days. Obviously something has happened that has shaken the very foundations of the Federation, and I'm worried that the Demorians are no longer the only ones involved."

"Not the only ones involved?" Captain Richardson questioned, quirking his bushy eyebrows in confusion, "What are you not telling us Kirk?"

Jim smiled minutely and spread his hands in a defeated gesture, "You're one step ahead of me, Richardson; I was just getting to that part."

"Well?" Captain Evelyn muttered impatiently, glaring daggers at Jim with her dark, beady eyes. Jim swallowed his impromptu fear at the sight of her turkey vulture glower and cleared his throat.

"It seems that we're not the only ones who wouldn't mind seeing the Demorians gone for good. At this precise moment, my first officer Commander Spock is interrogating the remaining crew members of a Romulan vessel carrying the same woman who managed to wrench Senator Degrarg Kehghanha's head off his body and steal the majority of the information on his database in one fell swoop."

The session began to murmur in astonishment, conversing with their respective officers with widened eyes, "You're saying," Captain Peters gawked, "That you've got that damn spy on your ship?"

Jim chuckled quietly, wondering silently to himself on how Peters managed to graduate from the academy with his compulsive need to state the obvious, "That is exactly what I'm saying."

"So what's the verdict Kirk? How do we get these buggers to give up for good?" Captain Rogers, or Bill as he liked to be called, was the only man on this view screen Jim knew he could trust with his life. A Texas man by virtue, Bill Rogers was the Captain Kirk of his generation; a charming bachelor with a winning grin and bright blue eyes, he still managed to sweep every woman he met off their feet with a well placed wink and a dashing smile.

"Spock's still talking to her now. We managed to pick up eighteen survivors off the ship and many of them are still too injured to speak, let alone give up information," Jim sighed and ran his fingers through his once blond mane aggressively in an attempt to calm himself down, "But what I can tell you is that getting the Demorians to just up and quit isn't gonna happen."

"Get on with it Kirk. I don't have all day," Evelyn growled irritably.

"You should know by now, _Captain Evelyn_, that the rest of us are giving up our sleep as well, not just you," Bill retorted, "Maybe if you shut up and stop complaining, Jim might get to the good parts."

Evelyn snarled but kept her mouth shut, willing Jim to continue with evil in her eyes. Jim gulped and continued, "The Demorians aren't just going to admit defeat and we we're all aware of that, even if we didn't want to admit it. We're going to have to fight them and were not going to be able to do it alone."

"What are you suggesting Kirk?" Richardson interjected, "That we team up with the Romulans? Are you out of your mind?"

"No, I'm not out of my mind. I'm trying to get as much firepower on our side as we possibly can. You know just as well as I do that they're not going down without a fight. The Demorians have twice as many ships as us and five times the firepower. We might as well have a death wish if we go in alone."

"What makes you think we're going to help you, _Kirk_?" Evelyn sneered, narrowing her eyes on the young captain's face. Jim swallowed his disquiet and stared back at her with matching malevolence.

"You do realize the situation we're in right? You do realize that StarFleet is a dead line and that Earth could be a pile of space rubble for all we know? If we don't act-"

"Don't insult my intelligence child. I'm three times as old as you and know a little more about being a captain that you do."

Jim sighed and tried to gain his composure, "You won't be a captain much longer if the Demorians come and blow the shit out of your vessel while you're floating all alone in space."

If looks could kill..."What makes you think anyone is going to follow you Kirk? None of us are suicidal maniacs here. I've got a crew and a ship to keep alive."

Jim kept his silence as the calamity of her words sunk in; he did have a crew to keep safe, a crew that would willingly give their lives for him. Jim shuddered at the prospect of having more of his men and women die because of his choices.

Captain Richardson cleared his throat and brought Jim back from his reverie, "What does you plan entail Kirk, assuming you have one."

Jim would have laughed if the situation had been any different, "This Romulan spy knows a pretty great deal of information regarding the many strengths and weaknesses of the Demorian Empire. But what might be the most important point of all is that she knows the secrets of Demorian warfare, specifically their weaponry. We don't stand a chance against them without the extra firepower; the blueprints will be dispersed to every Federation vessel and will have to be constructed as quickly as possible for immediate use."

"My chief engineer is in the midst of disembowelling the Romulan vessel that this very moment," Jim continued, "His expertise might reveal the elusive secrets of the Romulan cloaking device, something the Demorians have been attempting to get their hands on for decades. If we can apply this technology to our own vessels, we might just create the perfect ambush."

Many of the men and women on the screen showed acute interest and urged Jim to continue; Evelyn just glared, "My first officer believes that we can somehow deliver a truce, albeit a temporary one I'm sure, with the Romulan Empire and take these evil sons of bitches down but if we can't, well..." Jim trailed off, rubbing the sleep from his tired eyes, "We'll have no choice but to hit them where it'll hurt the most."

"But that's against everything we stand for!" Captain Ryan replied, whose soft spoken demeanour cut across Jim like a knife "We can't just up and murder so many innocent people!"

"I know that," Jim countered despairingly, squeezing the bridge of his nose between his fingers, "But I don't know what else we can do."

"But if we let them survive, couldn't they just come back and try and destroy us again? Their jumps in technology are enormous! We can't just destroy their fleet and leave them untouched," Captain Feira exclaimed heatedly, her Andorian antennae bobbing furiously in her passionate disposition, "I know it's wrong but we have no other choice!"

"There may be another option."

Jim spun around in his chair and took in a sharp intake of breath; his eyes grazed hungrily over the slender silhouette of his first officer as he stood in the entryway of Jim's quarters. He stepped in and the sliding doors shut firmly behind him, blocking out the ethereal light that had made Spock seem almost otherworldly. Catching his fleeting breath, Jim hauled his cerulean eyes away from Spock's sinewy form and faced the screen of captains again with a determined look in his eyes.

"My first officer, Mr. Spock." Jim introduced, shifting his seat over so that Spock could face the procession. His face remained stoic as ever, but inside Jim could feel the tidal wave of emotions running rampant past the floodgates and into his own mind. Anticipation burbled like crashing waves against a rocky shore; apprehension rumbled through his skies like thunder clouds.

"Captain," Spock acknowledged, nodding only once to Jim before facing the screen, "I have just finished speaking with Isha Suran, the Romulan spy who succeeded in infiltrating the Demorian Empire. She believes that their defeat is imminent but exceedingly dangerous. They possess more military capability than we initially believed and proceeding with any strategy of war without the proper defences would be exceptionally foolish on our part."

"Commander Spock, what exactly did this _Romulan_ suggest?" Richardson inquired, a look of disgust crossing his wrinkled visage.

"She suggested a brief treaty between the Federation and the Empire in order to exterminate a common foe," Spock replied stoically, but Jim knew better that to judge his exterior; inside he was boiling with both concern and excitement on the subject, "She proposed a trade of technology; we return the information chip, extracted from Isha by Chief Medical Officer McCoy, that contains the blueprints of the weaponry and shielding technology in exchange for the Romulan cloaking device."

"But Kirk just said that his engineers are extracting it from the Romulan ship you have under siege!" Captain Fiera exclaimed bewilderedly, her bright blue eyes glittering with mischief, "We might not have to compromise with those warmongers!"

"Fiera, I don't mean to be rude but do we really want this to turn into a full-fledged war? What if the Romulans turn on us?" Bill countered, rubbing the scruff on his cheeks with his calloused knuckles.

"Well, we would have the cloaking device and the Demorian weaponry on our side wouldn't we? We could destroy the Romulans for good!"

"I think you forget that the Empire has a flagship shipyard that makes ours look like a sandbox."

The procession was quiet for the moment as Fiera chewed on that conveniently forgotten tidbit of information. Bill sat back in his seat, obviously proud of getting his point across but he still looked troubled, crushing the side of his lower lip nervously.

Jim gazed sidelong at Spock and Spock replied in kind, their thoughts suddenly falling along the same wavelength. A plan hit them both with enough force to knock them over and this registered in their eyes, sapphire to onyx; silver to gold.

"If-" They both said simultaneously, jerking their heads back to face each other. Jim smirked and went to open his mouth but stopped, seeing Spock had almost mirrored his actions. Closing his mouth and smirking again, he gestured with his hands for Spock to proceed.

"If we were to derive a plan in which we could wholly demolish the chip containing the details of the weaponry and be assured that the chip was not copied, we could essentially-"

"-we could basically have the Romulans do all the dirty work for us. We can let them have the chip and replicate as many missiles as they want. As long as the chip is destroyed and they use up their stores-"

"-there is a probable likelihood that the Demorian weaponry could be lost to the Romulans, signifying that the technology could never again be used against the Federation-"

"-as long as we were to destroy our remaining missiles and our copy of the blueprints as well."

The other captains attempted, some without success, to keep their eyes from bugging out of their sockets. Finally Bill spoke up, "Are you two married or something? You're finishing each other's sentences."

They refrained from commenting on the irony of the matter.

Richardson cleared his throat and shook his head in an attempt to clear the jarring image of Jim and Spock as a married couple, "How do you suppose we have the chip destroyed once it's in the Romulan's hands? Sending one of our own to destroy it would be suicide!"

Spock inclined his head and let the slightest of smirks grace his slender lips, "Leave that to me Captain Richardson. I have arranged a proposition that will promptly solve this minor hindrance."

Richardson sent Spock a skeptical look but kept his mouth firmly shut, grudgingly acknowledging that the man was too much of a pain in the ass to bother arguing with and he'd be damned if he was going to start an dispute with the obstinate alien at three in the morning.

"The Enterprise will steal the technology from the Romulan vessel just in case the Romulans go back on their word. I doubt it'll happen; the Romulans will do anything to get the Demorians out of their hair, even if it means siding with the Federation. We'll keep it hidden on our ship until we make the trade and then we'll disperse it as fast as we can," Jim said, eyeing his first officer mildly; he was interested to see what sort of plan Spock had in mind.

"We should send a few ships to Earth to find out what happened," Captain Ryan said quietly, brushing his smallish fingers through his mousy hair, "My ship is about six hours from Earth but I would feel more comfortable rendezvousing with another vessel just in case of attack."

"I'm nine hours out," Captain Peters replied, yawning like an imbecile, "I'll start back that way once this is over and meet you near Alpha Centauri. I'll send you my coordinates along the way."

"Good," Richardson said commandingly, all eyes drawing to him, "My ship is closest to your coordinates Kirk. I'll make the order and meet up with you within the next few hours. Meanwhile, I believe it would be safest to manoeuvre in sets of two from now on, meaning that no ship should be wandering any sectors alone. Our numbers are down as it is and a Demorian ambush wiping out anymore of our ships is the last thing we need."

"Agreed," Evelyn growled, finally speaking up after many minutes of silence, "But I'm still not entirely in agreement on Kirk's harebrained scheme. Your _Vulcan_," she sneered, "seems pretty sure of himself but I still remain unconvinced."

Jim sighed in exasperation, "Look Evelyn. I'm not in the mood to argue with you. You can choose to join us, or you can choose to stand down," he looked at the rest of the procession, "This goes for the rest of you as well but this is what we need to do."

Jim took a deep breath before continuing, feeling Spock's presence nudge him slightly in encouragement, "Isha Suran has already reported back to the Empire and they are willing to compromise. We'll copy the chip for ourselves and make the trade, handing over the ruined Romulan ship in the process. Meanwhile, my engineers will have already copied the cloaking device technology in case of any mishaps during the exchange."

"Then, we'll begin distribution. Our ships will be fitted with the cloaking devices and the technology to build the missiles. At this point, we'll have to group somewhere. StarBase Six and Seven are the only StarBases still left untouched by the Demorians and they will probably have a lot of the supplies we need. The extra staff will also be a great help."

"After that, we'll rendezvous with the Romulans, move into formation and ambush the Demorian system, hitting the shipyards first and then the planet second. We'll exhaust most of our supplies on the shipyards, meaning that it will be up to the Romulans to attack Demoria. We'll have successfully avoided the ethical headache of the situation by letting our uneasy truce-mates deliver the final blows. Meanwhile, Spock's plan about destroying the chip will fall into play and the Romulans will surely use up their stores of missiles since they're all bloodthirsty and insane, so I see no problem with that. We'll destroy our own chip, get the hell out of there and get back to Earth, if there's even one left."

There was a buzz amongst the captains; words flew back and forth between first officers and usurped captains. Some even turned their audio off in order contemplate the plan Jim had presented. He turned his own audio off and turned to Spock, meeting his eyes whilst trying to conceal the nervousness that was churning in his stomach like a whirlpool. Beneath the table, Spock grasped his shaking wrist and attempted to calm the troubled human, striving to calm the blustering storm in Jim's mind. So many things could essentially go wrong; so many people could die, he could die, Spock could die. The idea gripped him worse than he would have imagined and he tried in vain to suppress the nausea building in his core. He swallowed thickly and parted his parched lips, taking a deep breath to fill his tired lungs.

"Dr. McCoy requests your presence immediately after the conclusion of this call. It seems that our chemical compositions have been compromised due to our...altercation," Spock tried to hold back the guilt he felt but a tendril of his emotions filtered through the floodgates of Jim's mind, gripping him at his core, "The computer cannot detect our presence because of it, which is why the ship's crew was unable to locate us."

"Great," Jim replied, glancing downwards at his feet, "And I suppose I still have a part of you in my brain?"

"The doctor believes it is reversible," Spock released his grip on Jim's wrist and attempted to flatten his unruly hair, "I will be relieved to have myself...intact once again."

"You're telling me," Jim replied, chuckling quietly, "I'm going to look like Morticia Addams soon," he muttered, motioning to his darkening mane, "And I'm dying for a steak. A big, juicy, Texas-"

"Your obsession with eating flesh is appalling," Spock interjected, quirking his eyebrow upwards in what could only be described as a disgusted gesture. Jim smirked back at him, winking at the sickened Vulcan with the eye that could not been seen by the screen.

"Captain Kirk," Richardson's voice chimed stridently from the monitor, "Our discussions have come to an end. We're waiting for your cue."

Jim flicked his sound back on and faced the procession, the nervous claw clenching at his gut once again, "Captain Richardson. What is your verdict?"

"My verdict, Kirk, is unanimous. This is the best damn plan I've heard from anyone and though the thought of teaming up beside the Romulans disgusts me, I think we have no other choice. My ship is already on route to your location as we speak."

Jim took a deep breath and let some of the anxiety wash off of him; at least he had the Enterprise's sister ship on their side.

"Captain Rogers?"

"Do you think I'd give up a chance to start some trouble with y'all? I don't think so. I'm heading towards StarBase Six now."

"Captain Fiera?"

"I am agreed. I don't like it much, but I agree with Richardson that it's the best plan I've heard. The Demorians deserve what's coming to them and frankly, I think this could actually work."

The nerves clinching at Jim's core began to subside as the various captains agreed to Jim's plan; only one ship, commandeered by Captain Evelyn, announced their non-contribution. Both troubled and relieved, Jim thanked her for her time and waited until she cut her connection before returning to face his fellow captains once more, his eyes shining.

"We have consensus."

* * *

"What do you mean, you're going to destroy the chip?!" K'Tol screeched, her body shaking in rage at the Romulan spy before her, "You can't just give up those weapons like that! How can you trust that the Vulcan will keep his word?"

"Vulcans cannot lie," Isha replied simply, "I can see through his soul like a pane of glass and I know of his intensions. He intends to keep his word and I intend to keep mine, no matter the consequences."

K'Tol was furious, "I can't let you do that! They'll _kill_ you!"

"I know they will. But I can't let these missiles destroy anymore lives. Can you imagine the destruction the Empire will cause? They will obliterate billions of lives for the sake of sport; you know very well how our people are."

"I know," K'Tol muttered, running her bandaged hand along her bare forearm, "But what if more Demorians survive? We have to destroy them all!"

"But at what cost?" Isha exclaimed, gripping the young Romulan's shoulders in her dainty hands, "I will not allow billions of lives to be lost just because of our people's unquenchable thirst for blood! You can give those blueprints over to the Empire but I'm warning you, it will do much more harm than it will good."

"But..." K'Tol seemed to crumble, "I thought you said you liked my blueprints."

"I do _sesketh,_ but it will not just be used to destroy Demoria. Your device will be operated to kill countless people, just like the Demorian missiles would if they were to be kept in use."

"But wouldn't that be good for us?" K'Tol asked quietly, her eyes on the verge of spilling over with tears.

Isha sighed and cupped the young Romulan's cheek in her hand, "I must have been wrong about you if you think that way."

As Isha walked down the corridor, the calamity of the spy's words crushed her like an anvil, revealing all of those preciously kept parts for all to see. Her heart wrenched in her throat as she let Isha's words sink in; she didn't know whether to run after her or kill her. Her mind told her to do both but her body said otherwise, willing her to collapse onto the ground in a heap of tears and anguish. She propped her sobbing body against the closest wall and cried until she could do nothing but heave until she could cry no longer. The pain began to evaporate as she tried to catch her breath and in its place came a great burning sensation, rousing from within an emotion so passionate that she felt herself become consumed by it. She wrenched herself upwards and steadied herself on her feet, clutching her fists so hard that her nails broke through the skin of her palms. Her heart beat thudded in her ears like a gigantic kettle drum, beating a countdown to the end of everything she had come to understand. She squeezed her eyes shut and blinked them open once again, allowing herself the freedom of feeling _one last time_.

There was only fire.

And then...

_Nothing.

* * *

_If you're looking for a fabulous way to get unstressed, I suggest you read my new story **Shuffle, Switch, Repeat**, review it and then try it out for yourself. It's a lot of fun to do! If you do decide to try it, let me know through a review and I'll read yours and review it in kind!

Now, please review and let me know if you're still reading! I know this was a long one (it took me forever to organize) but if there is a specific part that confused you, let me know so I can edit it.

Love and fluff,

Brontë


	17. Chapter 17

I'm sorry for the long wait. I got laid off this month and all my free time has been spent looking for a job. What kind of boss fires their employees after Christmas?! FML.

I hope you enjoy this guys. It took every ounce of my will power to actually get over my unemployment and write this. Reviews would be _greatly appreciated_ this time around; I don't know how I would get on without my reviewers, especially right now.

Here goes nothing...

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

"_What _in God's name-"

Bones wrenched his hands from inside the enormous, oozing gash and held up what looked to be something between a kidney and an ashtray. Muttering a line of expletives that would have made a Klingon quiver, Bones shoved the malformed organ back into the unconscious Romulan and gave its expressionless face the nastiest glare he could muster.

"Your insides are worse than the damn hobgoblin, you stupid, ugly lookin' freak of nature-"

"The scalpel?" a nurse mumbled quickly, butting in before Bones could finish his score of paltry invectives. McCoy snatched the instrument from the dainty nurse's hands and glared at her likewise, digging back into the internally bleeding alien spread out on the slab before him.

He reattached the abnormal looking kidney thing and began to operate on the Romulan's damaged lung, reluctantly learning various things on their physiologies as he manoeuvred on. Before long he had begun to hum a little tune in order to help him remember the various workings of their internal organs so that his tiring mind wouldn't forget come the next half dead Romulan they threw at him.

"The thing that might be an intestine but isn't connected to the stomach, the stomach connected to the little tube thing, the little tube thing connected to the oesophagus, oh hear the words of Jesus damnit-"

"Don't quit your day job," Chapel sniggered from the other side of the makeshift surgery panel to his left, peaking across the clinical pane to jeer him. She appeared to be just as weary as he did but he stared daggers at her anyway, envisioning himself throwing her down a garbage shoot despite the admirable work that she did.

"I'm a doctor damnit, not Frank Sinatra. You try and operate on these freaks of nature."

"I'll pass thanks," she replied with a cheeky quirk of her lips, disappearing behind the panel once again much to McCoy's chagrin. He didn't like it when his damn subordinates heckled him; where was the respect in the youth anymore?

Irrevocably stitching up the Romulan with the various green splattered instruments spread out on the tray beside him, he cleared the mess and watched jadedly as two nurses wheeled the comatose alien deeper into sickbay. He willed himself not to turn around but duty was calling, and when he opened his eyes, another body was laying like a stuck pig on his surgery table.

And when he said stuck, he meant that there was a giant _metal beam_ sticking out of his chest.

McCoy groaned and rolled his sleeves up once again.

_Green is _not _my colour._

* * *

Jim collapsed wearily onto his bed, the last of the various USS captains finally signing off after a good hour of incessant, but nevertheless necessary, badgering. He ran his hands across his face and rubbed them against the rough stubble that was beginning to pepper his butterscotch skin, promising himself that he would shave it off during his next free moment of time.

_Free time_, he thought with growing chagrin.

He went to wrench himself off his bed and make his way down to sick bay but a fiery hand stopped him deftly in his tracks, pushing him back into his prone position upon the mattress. Jim hauled his tired eyes to his right and discovered that Spock was sitting upon the edge of his bed, looking significantly concerned as his onyx orbs grazed the length of Jim's exhausted body.

"You are in need of rest," he said simply, lifting his hand off of Jim's still uniformed chest. Jim found himself hungrily craving the contact between them as the Vulcan's warmth left his toffee coloured skin.

"I can do without. I have to get to-"

"No."

"Yes Spock. I've got to-"

"No." Spock commanded, planting his nimble hand firmly on top of Jim's shoulder in fervent protest. Jim was immediately pushed down into the mattress with the sheer force of Spock's strength and winced slightly at the sudden pressure. Spock immediately recoiled his hand and Jim felt the alien guilt flood through his mind once again, through the mental floodgates of his consciousness and into every nerve of his being.

"This is going to take some time getting used to," Jim said, wordlessly relenting to Spock's sheer decree. He rubbed his shoulder unconsciously and propped himself up on his elbow, facing the anguished Vulcan as he attempted to purge the emotion from his mind, "Is this just another side effect of our impromptu brain switch?"

The Vulcan looked away.

Jim sighed, "There's something you're not telling me here. What is it?"

A sudden feeling of oppression filled the empty gap in his mind where he had most recently felt the Vulcan reside; with a frown he realized that Spock was purposely blocking himself out, something he hadn't initially considered. Inwardly demanding his attention, Spock brought his eyes back to face Jim's, downing in their cerulean depths.

"We have bonded," Spock said with clear hesitation, still impeding Jim's endeavours into his mind, "Our minds were compatible in such a way that was beyond our control. The 'impromptu brain switch', as you so palpably put it, only accelerated the process."

Jim considered this, "So what exactly does this bonding entail? Can you like, read my brain or something?"

"Vulcans are touch telepaths," Spock said with a hint of exasperation, "We are by no means 'mind readers'. But over time, you will acclimatize to the emotions that filter though the connection in your subconscious, the connection that you have already discovered, and become more in tune with what I am thinking. I shall soon be able to do the same."

"But you're blocking me now," Jim said apprehensively, staring up at Spock through his lingering eyelashes, "Why?"

"Because it is causing you discomfort. I do not wish for you to encounter more displeasure due to my own shortcomings."

Jim opened his drooping eyes and grasped at the guilty Vulcan's hand, pulling him closer. Spock obliged without protest, the barriers upon his buried feelings quivering dangerously. Jim did not let go until Spock's pointed ear was pressed against the opposite pillow, his face eye level with Jim's.

Jim was at a loss as to what to say; he could find no reasonable response within the winding passages of his swiftly tiring brain. He closed his eyes and breathed in the distinctive scent of his first officer, patently nodding off despite his fight to stay awake.

"You must rest Jim."

A soft rush of air escaped his lips as he let the tendrils of sleep embrace him, "Stay with me."

Spock's eyes softened.

"Of course."

* * *

The roads of Demorialis, the sprawling continental city of Demoria, were under the oppressive reign of never ending darkness. The brilliant rays of sunlight had long been hindered by the poisoned clouds that now masked the majority of the planet and many of its habitants had never seen its dazzling beams. Their skin had turned into a colourless grey from the lack of sunlight, dark and filthy looking compared to the bright, lime green it had once been.

It was what they assumed to be night now and the roads were relatively quiet; few groups lingered for very long in the streets, all willing to return home as fast as they possibly could. The guerrilla units were often on the prowl for new recruits in these parts of the planet's city, with more than half a billion residents to snatch away. The young and desperate were quick to join the suicidal rebellions; they were also quick to die.

Kehdrak wasn't sure what he was doing upon the grimy step, sitting like a patient slave awaiting its vengeful master. He was male and wasn't subject to that horrible torture, although there were those who took men as their slaves in the underground. Tortured and beaten, they worked as sexual servants to the violently demoralized male sex industry that relayed in ruinous exile beneath the city, always indiscernible to the government's watchful eye.

Kehdrak wondered pensively as to what his future may look like; soldier, stricken, slave? He didn't have the will to care.

_Hell personified,_ he thought aimlessly. He picked inattentively at a scab on his colourless knee through the holes of his tattered trousers and refused to look up at the small crowd of wanderers who passed before his stoop.

Life had always been a constant nightmare for him even in the moments before his birth, when he had been delivered in the underground gutters of the city for fear of imprisonment. His mother, a sex slave from the upper continent, had died from internal haemorrhaging, having been raped by an alien far superior in strength some years ago. Left alone with three female siblings, all of them born from different races and backgrounds, Kehdrak had led a miserable existence.

His older sister, Kehra, was taken first. Pure blooded Demorians were prized in the sex industry for their innocence and Kehdrak was devastated, but not surprised, when Kehra left and never came back. Two years later his younger sister Kahe was taken as well. Their diminishing clan had always been unsure of the race in which she was partly conceived, but her strange forehead features could have only kept the sex industry's eyes away for so long. Kehdrak knew it was only a matter of time before his youngest sister was taken as well.

_But I didn't think it would be so soon,_ he thought in silent misery. He ran his calloused fingers though his dreaded hair and let out an anguished puff of air, _She was all I had left._

The impoverished, starving five million or so vagabonds of Demorialis shared a similar fate more often than not. Too poor to leave and too afraid to run, the poverty-stricken dwellers of the rotting corpse that was Demorialis were condemned to a life of hate and despair. Together they stood against one illustrious enemy too strong to be fought but too malevolent to be ignored.

The Government.

Kehdrak sighed and brought his legs closer to his body to fend off the cold. He shivered violently and coughed a splatter of yellow blood onto his barely clothed knee. He wouldn't look up as a group of rifle wielding guerrillas wrenched him upwards by the elbow and tied him together with other struggling captives. He didn't complain as they threw him into a hovering vehicle that barely looked intact. He didn't protest when he was propped up against the wall and stunned in the chest, falling into an oblivion he hoped would never end.

_That's life. Accept it.

* * *

_

Thanks to: MirrorFlower and DarkWind, One Winged Royko (Thank you! It motivates me to know that I have inspired you to write! And screw English class; in a few years you can take real writing courses), SeverusPotterSnape (hmm...everyone surviving? I'll have to think about it...), Veglma (I understand now! And Bill is awesome, I plan to use him some more. Of course she got more crazy! Would you expect anything less?), Calipalace (Thanks Courtney! I LOVE V for Vendetta! I'm so honoured that you're reminded by that passage cause holy crap that's an awesome compliment!), Stelmaria (Oh Kirk. You can whip out anything for me), swamud3u (oh my god, you keep foreseeing my plot lines and its making me think you're like, telepathic or something. And thank you for your kind and inspiring words; I always appreciate them!) and Thumpa-Thumpa (I will definitely keep your food for thought in mind! Thanks for the constructive criticism!)

If you're a McCoy/Uhura shipper, I recently wrote _Long Road to Ruin_. If you're interested in checking it out, please review and let me know if you think I should continue!

Brontë


	18. Chapter 18

Thank you guys for your support and well wishes. After all the positive things you guys wrote, I just had to get this one out.

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**

Captain Richardson was uncommonly silent; there was nothing but the mundane sounds of technology filling the stagnant air on the bridge of the Excelsior. His officers were jittery and nervous, having just been briefed on the situation at hand.

Converge with the Enterprise.

Sign a treaty with some Romulans.

Go and blow the shit out of Demoria.

Collectively, the bridge crew was holding their breath.

Richardson had been succinct with the honest details, unwilling to trouble his already troubled officers any more than they were. The plan, in all honesty, scared the living daylights out of him too.

"How long?" Richardson muttered flatly, slashing through the silent air like a knife.

The lieutenant at the helm jolted with a start and swung around to face the captain, his expression perfectly describing the apprehensive morale of the crew, "Thirty two minutes sir."

"As you were."

Left to wrangle with his thoughts once more, Richardson slumped in his seat and tried to ignore the scream of pain from his lower back. _I'm getting too old for this,_ he thought candidly to himself, settling his wrinkled cheek into the palm of his hand, _Let's hope I live long enough to see my retirement._

"ETA?" He asked again.

"Sixteen minutes until arrival."

"Good."

An engineer fixing a panel to his left caught his eye and he found himself staring absently as the man went about his work. Richardson pensively imagined himself in his position, going about his work without the responsibility of a flagship chock full of men and women, _his_ men and women, weighing heavily on his shoulders. His stomach churned nervously; what if Kirk's plan failed?

"Sir, five minutes until we drop out of warp. The Enterprise confirms their position at the predestined coordinates."

Richardson nodded, "Ensign Gao, open a channel to the ship and transfer to my command."

"Yes sir."

Richardson waited until the green light appeared on his armrest console and took a deep breath before pressing the button, "Attention crew of the USS Excelsior, this is Captain Richardson speaking. In approximately five minutes we will be coming out of warp and rendezvousing with the USS Enterprise. As you may or may not already be aware of, we are no longer in contact with StarFleet and we have not heard from them in three standard days."

"After extensively discussing the situation, the remaining ships in the Fleet have decided to act independently and remain true to the Federation morals to the best of our ability. This means that we are now adopting defensive formation procedures, meaning that we will now be flanking the Enterprise until contact with StarFleet can be reached."

"Stay hopeful my friends. In the face of a crisis, I know that I can count on you to pull through. The USS Regime and the USS Renard are on their way to Earth now and I am confident that contact with our families and friends will be established once again very soon."

"_Hope_ _is our greatest ally._ Richardson out."

The helmsman spun around in his chair and stared at the captain with fervent, fearful eyes, "You forgot to mention that we'll be flying into a snare full of Romulans."

Richardson smirked, "I'm trying to raise morale lieutenant, not squish it."

"Yes sir," the lieutenant replied quietly, turning back around to face his station once again. He glanced at the worried Ensign beside him and offered him a reassuring squeeze of his shoulder. The ensign smiled back and hoped to all that was holy that he'd see his wife again.

* * *

Within seconds of the Excelsior appearance, Uhura alerted the captain and first officer to the current situation. She was frankly unsurprised when the comm. in Spock's quarters was never answered.

"What?" a raspy voice grumbled from the comm. directed to Kirk's quarters. There was an audible murmur in the background and Uhura barely refrained from smirking.

"Kirk, the Excelsior just arrived. Spock, and I know you're in there so don't you deny it, you're to get up here as soon as you can as well. I imagine Captain Richardson will want to discuss what's going on."

"What time is it?"

"0648 hours."

"Fuck!"

The comm. was broken after a flurry of rumpling sheets and four letter expletives ensued. Uhura smirked again and wondered, without a hint of chagrin, what her transmission had just broken up.

Meanwhile, Jim had just found himself spread-eagled on the ground, having fallen out of his bed with his legs tangled in the sheets. He was fuming as he tried to disentangle himself, failing miserably, and was further angered when he turned his head and saw the smug smirk that was painted across his first officer's slender lips.

"Will you help me or what?!" Jim exclaimed in annoyance, glaring at the haughty Vulcan in irritation.

Spock opened his mouth to speak, "I would rather not."

Jim gaped, "You're just going to leave me here?"

"The sight of your..." Spock trailed off pensively, "The sight of your person in such a position is highly amusing and therefore confirms my theory."

Jim threw him the most condescending look he could manage in his position, "Enlighten me."

"My theory states that you are an enigma, capable of being both authoritative and utterly imbecilic simultaneously."

"You're so funny Spock," Jim said flatly, "Now help me up."

Spock relented and gracefully lifted himself to his feet, coming around the bed to untangle the sheets from Jim's calves and thighs. His deft fingers worked quickly and efficiently, gliding effortlessly beneath the sheets and against Jim's butterscotch skin. He freed one leg and held it in his palms for a few seconds longer than necessary before easing it downwards onto the mattress. He conquered Jim's other leg quickly after that, caressing the skin of his thigh in his gentle, feather light grasp.

Feeling slightly flushed from the tingle of contact, Jim scrambled to his feet and fumbled with the wrinkled uniform on his chest, "Thanks."

"It was of no hindrance to me," Spock turned towards the door, already looking perfectly suitable for duty, "I must return to my quarters and change. I will see you promptly on the bridge."

"Yeah."

The sliding doors swished open and quickly closed behind the fleeting figure, leaving Jim feeling oddly alone in his room. The sudden sense of solitude filled him with panic for a moment and he reached out with his mind, finding the distant part of his subconscious where the pale skinned figure's essence remained, shining as brightly as a star in the darkness of space. He grasped onto it and let it consume him, the feeling of being wholesome filling him once again.

For there was nothing that scared Jim Kirk more than being alone.

He threw his uniform and his blacks off of his body, tossing them unceremoniously into some far corner of his quarters. His undergarments soon followed them into the pile of forgotten clothes and he found himself standing stark naked in the middle of his quarters, feeling more vulnerable then he would normally allow himself to admit.

He ran his fingers through his tousled hair and absently wished that he had more time; he would have liked to have washed the feelings of tension and worry from his body and soak in the warmth of the water one last time before being thrust into a series of events that could not be undone. He swallowed thickly and reached for the drawer of his undergarments, pulling them on tenuously as his thoughts wandered into the darker regions of his mind.

The plan he had orchestrated hung heavily on his shoulders; if it failed, not only would they all be dead, but the Romulans would have in their grasp a technology so violent that it would destroy the galaxy as they knew it. But if he succeeded, if the Federation succeeded, they would see to the end of the most oppressive rulers of their era.

He frowned as he pulled his blacks over top of his golden hair; what if the Romulan proceedings didn't go as planned? What if they detected the cloaking technology on the Enterprise and decided they would rather blow them to bits? Jim reached down to tie his boots in annoyance; what if Isha was _lying?_

He hadn't personally met with the Romulan yet but the account that had transferred from Spock's mind to his had been explanation enough. Spock had perceived that the Romulan had been telling the truth and had been present during the encounter between the Council and Isha Suran. The plan was straightforward enough; rendezvous on a planet on the edge of the Neutral Zone for discussion and trade. If terms were agreeable, they would go their separate ways, reconvene in two weeks and end the terrorism on their side of the Galaxy once and for all.

And if terms weren't agreeable...

Jim took a fleeting glance at the mirror and straightened out his collar; he looked horrid and sleep deprived and worried out of his fucking mind but at least he appeared to be mildly presentable. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and throwing himself a tired smirk, he left his quarters and made his way to the bridge.

Spock was already there of course, still looking as impeccable as ever despite the three hours of sleep he had received. Jim threw him a smile and settled down into his leather chair, facing the forwards screen with an expression that screamed with determination.

"Captain," Uhura said over the bustle of technology around her, "Captain Richardson is hailing."

"Patch him through."

The bridge of the Excelsior appeared on the screen and narrowed in on Richardson, framing his face and most of his upper body. The commanding gold of his uniform seemed faded in the light for some reason and Jim tried to quiet the feeling that he was witnessing an omen of things to come.

"Morning Captain Richardson. Safe journey here?"

Richardson nodded, "We didn't run into anyone on the way here. However, we did hear from the Marvin and the Ford about an hour ago. They've met up near Sirius II and are making their way to Starbase Seven now."

"Good. Any news from Ryan or Peters?"

"Not yet. My guess is that we'll hear from them before the day is out."

Jim nodded and glanced sidelong, eyeing a yeoman near the astrometrics station, "How far are we from the coordinates?"

The young woman tapped feebly at her station, somewhat nervous under the blonds' unfurling gaze. She rose from her calculations a moment later and looked down towards his feet, unwilling to make eye contact, "Fourteen hours, twenty five minutes from our current position sir."

Jim nodded again in acknowledgement and turned back to Richardson, "Once we've confirmed the rendezvous with the Romulan council, we'll make our move."

"What of the..." Richardson hesitated, realizing the repercussions of what he was about to say, "...your engineers?"

Jim immediately caught on, knowing quite well that the Romulans could be monitoring their frequencies without them knowing, "They've found the problem and are extracting it now," he said without missing a beat.

"I'll be beaming over shortly with my team," Richardson said, lips quirking into a small smile, "The Enterprise, though the Excelsior's sister, seems to have been given the princess treatment."

Jim laughed out loud and petted his armrest adoringly, "She's a beautiful lady, the Enterprise. I'm at her mercy."

"Well that's saying something," Richardson snorted. Jim pretended to look offended but failed when the rest of his bridge crew seemed to nod in agreement, "I'll be beaming over at 1100 hours. At ease, Kirk."

"At ease."

"Richardson out."

The view screen faded to black and a scene of stars, half occupied by the Excelsior, took its place. Jim sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that morning and spun around in his chair, locking eyes with the charcoal irises of his first. The connection was immediate; the emotions filtering through the floodgates in his mind instantaneously swelled as a flood of reassurance filled him from the inside out. He nodded to him, making his intentions known through the chain that linked their minds together, and got to his feet. He walked towards the doors to the turbolift, Spock only a stride behind him, and Jim paused only for a moment to turn towards his helmsman.

"You've got the conn. Sulu. Mr. Spock and I have an interrogation to attend."

* * *

Isha Suran quickly found out that the Federation's mass funding did not go towards their crew's comfort. _The bed is adequate_, she mused as she sat upon the grey blanket covering the mattress, _but certainly not exceptional_.

The door chimed and she hesitated before allowing it to open, doubtfully hoping that the younger, estranged Romulan she had befriended would pass through the doorway. To her surprise, and her ultimate dismay, two men, one human and one Vulcan, passed through the door instead.

"I hope you have found our guest quarters suitable. They're not exactly resort material but hey, they do their jobs," the male in gold said smilingly, his blue irises twinkling in the artificial light. Isha's eyes dropped to the sleeve of his shirt and she was immediately informed of his status.

"Captain," she replied quietly, dipping her head minutely in respect, "They are...adequate."

Jim's eyebrow quirked humorously, his eyes flashing, "I see my First Officer wasn't lying when he said that your race and his share a common ancestry. You guys even _talk _the same."

Isha allowed a smile to grace her features, "But unlike he, I allow my emotions to empower me. The teachings of Surak are not embraced in my culture, but otherwise we are undoubtedly similar."

"Interesting," Jim smiled and took a seat on a couch adjacent to Isha's bed. Spock stood by his side, his gaze towards the Romulan before him unwavering, "I figure it's best to get to know each other if we're going to work together, both individually and as a race. My first officer tells me that you are a spy for the Romulan council. Could you tell us what you know about the type of threat we're about to go up against?"

Isha inclined her head and met eyes with Spock before finding the captain's once again, "The Demorians are prevailing and more formidable than any enemy you have ever encountered. The Demorians make the Klingon Empire look like infants."

Jim swallowed dryly, already disliking the news pouring from her lips.

"Their technology," she continued, "is unlike anything your Federation has seen. The Demorian conquest uses a combination of organic and inorganic material for their mass amounts of weapons. In space, these weapons can penetrate shields and destroy a single ship with one fell blow. If these weapons were to be aimed at a planet," Isha shuddered suddenly, her irises flickering black for a fleeting moment, "an entire continent could become infected with the worst virus known to any of us."

"The upper continent of Remus was affected by this disease in an attack a few months ago. Millions had to be quarantined and slaughtered," Isha looked away, "My mother was one of them. The suffering was horrendous. Flesh dissolved off the bone like melting ice and organs liquefied inside their internal cavities. Coming within close range of the infected without proper gear would prove fatal; many unharmed Remans and Romulans died by helping the sick. It was mass chaos...and the Demorians have no qualms in using this biological weapon again."

"The plans that I intercepted from Senator Degrarg Kehghanha indicated that Earth was next. The rest of the Federation planets would follow, and then my own subsequently. If we do not stop them captain, life as you know it will never be the same."

"We lost contact with StarFleet over three days ago," Jim said warily, his stomach beginning to churn with panic. Spock was feeling similarly, "Are you telling me that-"

"It could have already happened, yes," she replied, confirming his worst fears, "The northern continent of your planet would be the first target of their onslaught. They planned to take out the European continent as well and then leave the planet to suffer and die out on its own."

Spock and Jim turned to each other, both sensing the dread beginning to swell inside of them. Spock reached upwards and rubbed the stubble on his cheeks anxiously, inwardly attempting to suppress the unnatural human tendencies that had come with the mind meld gone wrong. He turned back to the Romulan and they met eyes, a shrewd whisper of a smile painting her lips.

"A Vulcan and a human..." she mused, "What a strange pairing. And a bonded one no less."

Spock raised one of his eyebrows in inquiry, "Your senses of perception are adept."

"It comes with the training," Isha said quietly, "You can't just walk off the streets and become a field member of the opps team. Training takes years of discipline and preparation; sensitivity to observation was my best subject."

"Ugh, please don't tell me you can read my mind too," Jim moaned, eyeing both the Vulcan beside him and the Romulan suspiciously. Isha could tell that he held no real resentment in his accusation, only a hint of exasperation.

"Your high mental aptitude makes things easier for a telepath like myself and your Vulcan to detect. Unlike most humans, we are able to read you almost as well as we can read one of our own kind."

"Lovely. So the Romulans we're about to meet are going to know all about my sex life too?"

Isha laughed, "I can read your intentions and your emotions only. I cannot read the thoughts that pass through your mind without a physical link and even then it would be difficult because of your link with your Vulcan," She smirked at Spock as he glared down at her, "Luckily for you captain, your intentions are as sincere as I have yet encountered. The Council will no doubt be impressed by your mental prowess."

Jim chortled and ran his fingers through his hair. Spock reached down and made gentle contact with the bare skin of Jim's neck, _She speaks the truth_, he whispered through their mental connection, _She is unlike any other Romulan I have encountered._

Jim's eyes flitted back and forth between Isha and Spock, _Does she think the rendezvous will go well?_

_She is confident,_ Spock replied quietly, _but, as a human would say, anything can happen._

Spock felt Jim's amusement through the link and allowed a minuscule grin to grace his pale features, _You're scaring me Spock,_ Jim said laughingly, _Bones better be able to fix you._

"Are you two finished?"

Both their heads snapped around to face Isha who was patiently staring at them both, "Though you two are visually endearing, I still have more to tell you."

"Go on then," Jim said with a smile, "Sorry."

"Moving on," she said shrewdly, "I received another transmission from the Council not forty minutes ago. You will proceed to the predetermined coordinates for a meeting that will commence tomorrow afternoon at 1600 hours standard time. Discussions will take place on the uninhabited class M planet Procyon IV in a neutral location. You will be permitted to bring five officers with you and only you will allowed to be armed, as is principle. You will not be able to beam down to the coordinates. You must use a shuttlecraft to penetrate the atmosphere and your ship must remain in orbit above the planet. Only when discussions are over will either party be allowed to return to their vessel and transmissions before, during or after discussions are not permitted," she threw them both a wry smile, "Despite your initial contact with my race, you will be surprised at the hospitality they will show you. We desire the demise of the Demorian conquest just as much as you."

"Sounds like a hell of a lot of rules," Jim muttered, "Don't we get to make any?"

Isha laughed, "The Federation has thirteen ships. We have one hundred and six."

He grimaced, "Good point."

* * *

Thank you to: MirrorFlower and Darkwind (thank you for reviewing and sticking with the story all this way! 3), swamud3u (thank you for your kind words and encouragement. Being laid off SUCKS and your advice has been really helpful. I've already plastered my CV all over the web), GothicCheshire (Thank you so much! I love making Bones cranky hehe. Ps Save the Vulcan was sooo good!), Stelmaria (good ol' bojangles song!), Sharingan-Fer-Sure (Thank you! If I could I would buy you lunch for that review. You're so kind!), Veglma (hehe! You're funny! Thank you!!), nomdeplumekansas x2 (Thank you so much! I'm really happy that you like it!), Amy (THANK YOU! CAPS ARE AWESOMESAUCE!) and calipalace (Intricate plot is an understatement! I have so many freakin' plot lines going right now...lol. But seriously, thank you Courtney for your continuing support. I appreciate it so much!)

My review count is down :( but thank you to those people who have been there throughout this story. It's about time I pay you all the immense thanks you you, thank you and please review!!!

Love and fluff,

Brontë


	19. Chapter 19

Ha! So there's a canon USS Excelsior! I totally didn't realize this when I wrote it in. In the regular canon, its captained by Sulu in ST: VI but I figure since the technology is so advanced in the ST: XI universe, the Excelsior could have been launched much earlier. And Richardson is captaining it because I said so.

Review, review, review please! The more the reviews, the faster I write! It's an unwritten code of nature, yes?

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen**

Bones stumbled backwards and leant against the empty biobed behind him, a glass full of whisky and ice cubes pressed gingerly to his forehead. The last of the surgeries, the treatments and the green psycho Romulans spread on his slab were finally over with and after ten hours, he was damn relieved. It had been a hell of an evening, or a morning rather since it was close to being 1030 hours. He hadn't had a wink of sleep since the early wakeup call and he was quite tempted to collapse on the floor and let sleeping doctors lie.

"Bones!" a voice chimed from the doorways of sickbay. McCoy nearly sunk to the floor, "Mr. Spock said you wanted to see us?"

"Goddamnit!" Bones exclaimed petulantly, glaring at the two oncoming figures through his bushy brows, "What in God's name do you want?"

Jim smirked sardonically; there was nothing like a cantankerous doctor to lift your spirits, "You gonna fix us or what?"

Bones shot a contemptuous glance towards Spock before finally remembering what he had said to the Vulcan before this whole mess had begun, "Oh right. How could I have forgotten that you two mixed your brains together in an impromptu lover's quarrel? Oh yeah, because I just spent ten and a half hours operating on a band of psychotic Romulans! Romulans! Like the ones that almost blew up Earth? Like the ones that blew Vulcan into smithereens?" Bones spun on his heel and made towards his office, motioning for Jim and Spock to follow him, "But of course I'll take time out of my miserable existence to fix your addled brains. You better put me in for a pay raise, havin' to deal with this shit. I wasn't trained for this! Tell StarFleet that when you call them. Oh wait! StarFleet could be a pile of space rubble by now! What do yeh know?"

Spock and Jim exchanged glances.

"And now," Bones continued, "I'll just scan you back into the damn registry since the both of you managed to change your goddamn DNA in the process! Yeah, see when you two idiots decided to go swimming in each other's brain fluid you ended up muckin' around with your sequences," McCoy picked up at tricorder and aimed it at them both menacingly, "Great! So now that we can find out where the fuck you are in the ship, perhaps you'd like to get the hell out of my sickbay?"

"Wait," Jim interjected, holding up his hands in defeat, "I thought you said you could fix the exchange we made."

"Not today I'm not!" McCoy roared, "Does it look like I'm in my right mind to you?! I just finished ten and a half hours of surgery! To hell if I'm going to operate on your brains! Your brains man! Your _brains_! Maybe when you get all these damn Romulans out of my sickbay, maybe after I'm good and rested after twenty four straight hours of rest and a whisky, maybe when your hobgoblin stops starin' at me like I'm breakin' rules I'll fix ya."

"The consumption of alcohol is prohibited while on duty Doctor."

"Does it look like I'm on duty damnit?! I'm a doctor, not a damn machine! Now get the hell out of my sickbay and let me rest damnit, before I fuckin'die."

Not wanting to argue with him, Jim gave him a nod of thanks and bee lined it for the doors, his first officer not far behind him. Once in the safety of the corridors and away from the doctor's menacing wrath, Spock inclined his head and glanced towards his superior officer, "That was...unnerving."

Jim laughed, "I haven't seen him that angry since Omelaes IX. And what a hell of a day that was."

"Are you sure there is not another suitable candidate for Chief Medical Officer on this ship?"

"Spock," Jim sent him a knowing smirk, "You know as well as I do that he's the best damn doctor in the fleet. He just saved fourteen Romulans. No one in StarFleet has _ever_ operated on a Romulan before, let alone studied their physiologies."

"He could, as you would say, give you a run for your money when it comes to insubordination."

Jim snorted, "Maybe we shouldn't switch our brains back. I like this new you."

"I disagree," Spock said dryly, "I believe my IQ has fallen dramatically."

"I'm hurt!" Jim twisted his face into a mock hurt expression. They both stepped into a turbolift and Spock stabbed at the button to the bridge, throwing Jim a small smirk before hiding his emotions once again. The machine whirred upwards and within seconds they were stepping onto the bridge.

"Sir," Uhura began, her hands pressed to her earpiece, "We are receiving a distress beacon from just outside the Neutral Zone."

Jim eyes widened, "Origins?"

"Sir it's..." Jim could sense the panic in Uhura's voice. She looked up at him and locked their gaze, telling him all that he needed to know.

"Shit," Jim muttered, walking towards the yeoman to Uhura's left and addressing her, "Patch it through."

"It's badly damaged sir."

"I don't care. Give me both audio and video if you can."

"Yes sir," the yeoman said, her fingers racing wildly on her station. Within moments, a blurry and static image began to materialize on the forward view screen.

"This is Captain Ev...of the USS...we have been attacked unprovoked by...the ship has been badly...escape pods are being lau..." The image suddenly changed as a blast of fire overtook the screen. Screams erupted in the background and the female face that had been speaking before came in front of the camera again, "Most of us won't...no hope for us now...I am sorry...too strong...no survivors-"

The feed cut out and static overtook the screen.

* * *

"Ah think we goot it lads!" Scotty exclaimed, popping out of a Romulan bulkhead with a fair amount of grime covering his face and hair. He had a large PADD shaped device in his hand and was waving it above his head in victory, "Thae Romulans won't ken whit clout 'em!"

The rest of the engineers from the Enterprise pretended to understand what he was saying. Only Keenser, who was especially adept at crawling into small spaces and extracting sensitive software, replied with a hearty whoop. Standard was a mystery to him but this nonsense he could understand.

"Enterprise," Scotty barked into his communicator, "We hae the wee package. Six teh beam up!"

Moments later, the familiar tingly feelings of transport enveloped him and his crew and in an instant he found himself on the transporter pad of the Enterprise with his men at his side. He stepped off first, handing the large rectangular shaped device to the man behind him, "Yeh get this doun teh Engineerin' and start extractin' the infermation. Ah goot teh get fer a wee bit o' help."

With a firm nod, the Engineering crew took off towards their respective workplace with a fair bit of speed; they didn't want their half mad Scottish superior officer swearing at them in whatever god forsaken language he spoke.

Scotty took off out of the transporter room and found the closest turbolift, taking it to the very top of the ship. He tried to dust himself off and look somewhat respectable when facing the captain but he only managed to smear more of the Romulan grease and grime onto his already covered face. _Too late nou,_ he thought as the lift slowed and its doors opened, allowing the radge officer a glimpse the bridge.

The bridge was silent.

Scotty stepped onto the control floor but no one paid him any heed, their thoughts and eyes drawn elsewhere. The captain stood just in front of his chair, his eyes widened and his fists curled. His mouth was partly opened in what appeared to be a half thought out shout, having died feebly in his throat before it could manage to escape his lips. The rest of the bridge crew appeared to be affected similarly and Scotty wasn't quite sure what to do with himself.

"Err...captain?"

Jim whirled around to face the intruder, his cerulean eyes wild. They calmed as they locked onto the uncomfortable looking Scotty who was fumbling unconsciously just in front of the turbolift.

"Scotty," Jim replied feebly, "What can I do for you."

"Err...permission teh take the Commander fer a wee moment. The software 'as been removed and we arr workin' on extranctin' it nou."

Jim nodded, "Permission granted." Without another word, Jim turned towards the forwards view screen again and collapsed onto his chair, burying his fingers in his wild golden mane. He massaged his head roughly as Spock got to his feet and joined Scotty at the turbolift, pressing the button for the doors to open. As the two of them stepped into the turbolift, Scotty watched as Jim turned to the yeoman behind him and asked for some coordinates.

The doors closed in front of them, "Whut was tha' all aboot?"

"The USS Kipling has been destroyed."

Scotty's eyes widened in horror, "By who?"

"Unknown. But it is easy to hypothesize."

* * *

Sulu was unsure of what to do next; he wanted so badly to type in those same coordinates the yeoman had spoken and fly at maximum warp to see if there were any survivors. _Captain Evelyn had said that their escape pods had been deployed...or had they? _Sulu's conscious battled for dominance in his mind, knowing that there probably wouldn't be any survivors. _Not if they were attacked by Demorians,_ he thought bitterly. He gripped the shaft of the warp shift and narrowed his eyes.

Chekov leaned over and clutched Sulu's shoulder gently, "Don't ewen tink about it."

Sulu grimaced and glanced sidelong at Chekov, "Am I that transparent?"

"Oh yes," Chekov replied solemnly, "But zhat is because I know you so well."

Their conversation was cut short as their captain's voice rung over the din of the bridge crew, "Lieutenant Uhura, contact Richardson immediately. Send him the beacon. He may have already intercepted it himself but if not, he needs to be aware of what's happened."

Uhura nodded, "Yes captain," she tapped fervently at her station, "File and message sent. The channel is open."

Within moments, Richardson's face appeared on the forward view screen. He appeared to be paler that usual, "The message was picked up by us as well. We weren't able to clean it up any further."

"Communications is working on it now. Picture is being restored but audio is proving to be a task."

"Evelyn," Richardson muttered, shaking his head in gravity, "She was always so damn stubborn."

"If it was Demorian though," Jim interjected, "Do you think it would have been different if there had been two ships instead of one?"

Richardson shook his head, "I suppose not. But damnit, another ship..."

"I know," Jim nodded sombrely, "But this just gives us more incentive to form a treaty with the Romulans and finish this for good. This could be the beginning of history in the making."

Richardson grimaced and quickly tousled his greying hair, "I'll alert StarBase six. They're the closest ones to the Kipling's destination. I'm sure it would be no skin off their nose to send a small craft out to search for survivors."

"Good idea," Jim looked back at the three ensigns huddled around Uhura and one gave him a thumbs up, "The transmission has been fixed. I'll split screen it and play it now."

The picture that appeared on the screen was that of a much destroyed Federation bridge. Captain Evelyn, who was undoubtedly in a lot of pain, was sitting crookedly in her chair and cradling what looked to be a dislocated shoulder. Despite her pain, only an indignant grimace played across her birdlike features as she made her final log entry.

"This is Captain Evelyn of the USS Kipling," she exclaimed above the carnage around her, "We have been attacked unprovoked by a Demorian warship unlike anything I have ever seen before. The ship has been badly damaged and I don't know if she'll hold much longer. Escape pods are being lau..." Captain Evelyn was thrown from her seat and many other unfastened crew members flew to the side as well, some mercifully dead and some barely alive. Fire exploded from conduits all around the burning bridge, taking up the valuable atmosphere they would soon no longer need, "They've been launched. Most of us won't live long enough to see them go. There's no hope for us now and I am sorry for the families of the crew I have let down. The Demorian ship is too strong. There will be no survivors-"

The feed ended and the yeoman quickly took it down; seeing the view screen covered in static was haunting enough.

"So it was Demorian," Richardson mumbled.

"Which means they've taken over the Neutral Zone. Our StarBases are probably next," he spun around to face Uhura, "Issue a warning on all urgent crisis frequencies to both StarBases. Have them initiate emergency transport sequences and get the hell out of there."

"Yes sir."

Jim turned back to Richardson, "You know what this means."

He nodded, "They're mad. Something must have happened on Earth."

"Yes," Jim smirked slightly, his lips twitching upwards in a crooked half smile, "We might have won."

Richardson didn't look quite as hopeful, "Or, we might have fought back. And lost."

"With all due respect Richardson," Jim got up from his seat and took a few paces forward. The eyes of his bridge crew were torn from their work and drawn to his form, strong and determined amidst a field of worried faces, "I don't believe in no win scenarios."

"Keep tellin' yourself that kid," Richardson sighed and ran his fingers through his greying hair, "Optimism can only get you so far. Richardson out."

The screen returned to the usual forward view and Jim sighed before walking back to his seat and collapsing into his chair once again. Richardson's negativity wasn't giving him much direction; his crew was already miserable and worried out of their minds and Jim didn't want it to get any worse. He feared what would happen if they learnt that Earth really had been destroyed or hit with bioweapons; would his crew lose all hope? Would they want to return to Earth so badly that they'd forsake their jobs just to see if their families were alive? Jim propped his elbow on the arm rest of his chair and pressed his cheek against his fist, biting his tongue against the brewing nervousness inside of him.

He turned his chair around and faced Uhura with a grim expression, "Transmissions from StarBase six and seven?"

"Affirmative. StarBase Seven is preparing for launch. StarBase Six is deploying two vessels in search of surviving pods and equipment from the USS Kipling. They will be transporting to the predetermined coordinates in T minus thirty eight hours."

"Great. How many other ships have made it to the bases yet?"

"The USS Violet and the USS Antigone are en route to StarBase Six now. They'll make it there within the next ten hours, providing no disturbances. The USS Trillian has finished picking up the crew they were forced to hide on the various planets in the Betelgeuse system and they're on their way to StarBase Six with the USS Coruscant. The Ford, the Marvin, the Iago and the Escher are preparing for transport with Starbase Seven right now."

"When are they departing?"

"Unknown sir. They just sent a quick acknowledgement and that was all."

"What about the Renard and the Regime?"

"I just sent the transmission thirty seconds ago. I expect their reply within the next few minutes."

"Good. Alert me immediately when you do," Jim got to his feet and made his way to the helm, standing in between the two young officers before him, "Mr. Chekov, Mr. Sulu."

They both looked up at him but Chekov was the first to speak, "Yes Keptin?"

"I need you two in full defensive from now on. Take power from the illumination controls and cut it down to ninety percent gradually. The last thing I want is to hear the science department bitching to me about lighting and controlled experiments. Put all scanners on maximum and keep an eye on them constantly. If there are _any_ fluctuations, no matter the size, I want to hear about them right away."

"Aye," Sulu and Chekov both chimed simultaneously. They gave each other a withering, half sardonic look before turning back to their stations and Jim had to smile a little bit because this wasn't the first time they had spoken like twins. His eyes grazed over the bandage on Sulu's forehead but quickly quieted the worry, knowing quite well that Bones wouldn't have cleared him for duty if he had suffered a concussion.

"Sir! The Renard just relayed their coordinates. They're two hours away from the Sol system and they haven't picked up any frequencies at all. There are no out coming transmissions from anywhere in the vicinity," Uhura exclaimed fervently, spinning around towards her captain, "They have, however, picked up a lot of Tellarian and Andorian signatures since their rendezvous in Alpha Centauri."

"More than usual?"

"Oh yeah. Like, nine times more."

Jim dipped his head and rubbed the stubble peppering his cheeks roughly with his palm, "What the fuck is going on?"

* * *

"You're welcome council."

K'Tol bowed towards the screen as the transmission ended, sending the room into complete and utter darkness. Her face was drawn and taunt and her eyes were half lidded in deliberation, unsure of what she should be doing next.

The salves the human doctor had administered to her wounds were itching incessantly; she wanted to rip the bandages from her skin and restrained herself only marginally, knowing fully that further injury would only heed her from her upcoming tasks.

_Upcoming tasks_, she thought dryly to herself. She got to her feet and exited the deserted guest room, its furniture and bedding still untouched. She strode down the hall with her head held high, lost in her thoughts as they burned all around her.

A horribly fiendish smile began to play at the corners of her lips, inching upwards until they curled into an atrociously nefarious grin.

_There will be no rest for the wicked tonight.

* * *

_

Thanks to: Bubbly714 (Thanks for the review Alile! It's always nice to hear from you. I'm super glad you like the OCs I've created! Isha is my favourite!), Loveless Torii (Maybe they will be defeated for good...or maybe they won't!), swamud3u (This chapter is no exeption to those innocuous exchanges between out favourite couple. The stubble rubbing is such a Kirk move, and that's why I specifically picked it for Spock to do! And once again, you're reading my mind! Stop that! Thanks so much again!), MirrorFlower and DarkWind (thank you as always, I love to hear from you!), knp10 (Thank you so much! The interaction between our favourite couple seems to be everyone's favourite part!), Veglma (Yeap! Earth is screwed! ...maybe!), Edward the spiderqueen (Thank you so much! I'm so glad you liked it!), FallenAngelKiya (Physics is death anyways! I'm glad my story could provide you with a brain break from studying!), Kangaroo and Calipalace (Thank you Courtney! Isha is my favourite; she's so damn cool and quite soon we'll see much more of her. She plays _quite_ an important role as this story reaches its end).

Also, a big thanks to K2 on Alcatraz who figured out the reasoning behind the USS Marvin, Ford and Trillian. DON'T PANIC!

Review please!

Love and fluff,

Brontë


	20. Chapter 20

Guess who nailed a job interview? Me! Now I just have to wait for them to call back...

Anyway, here's the next installment. It's a little short because I didn't get a lot of reviews this time around, so you'll just have to much on this delicious little tidbit for now. And if you want to see Chapter 21 anytime soon (which is EXPLOSIVE by the way), get your ass down to the review button!

* * *

**Chapter Twenty**

Richardson was the first to rematerialize on the transporter pad at exactly 1100 hours; his crew of five appeared only milliseconds after him and stepped off only after Richardson had done so. His eyes met with Jim's immediately and he shook his hand, unwilling to waste any more time on formal greetings. Jim motioned for the away team to follow him out of the transporter room and towards the ready room which was only a quick five minutes away.

As the bulkheads and seconds flew by, Jim found himself lost in his inner monologue of thoughts. He reached out towards the faint presence in the back of his mind and let himself be consumed by the consenting emotions there, bathing himself in the intimate secrets of Spock's mind. He close his eyes as he walked down the nearly abandoned corridor, his body already knowing the way, and envisioned himself staring out of Spock's onyx eyes and watching the progress of the cloaking device software with approval. Spock was only down there for translation and reformatting purposes; he was the only one in all of StarFleet (if there was one left) who was remotely familiar with Romulan technologies. Spock had already cracked the codex and transferred the system onto an exterior drive, translating the commands and menus into Standard language with varied ease.

Jim wrenched his eyes open as he stepped into the turbolift, wondering vaguely if he had just entered Spock's mind and seen what he had been seeing at the time. As he watched the rest of the Excelsior's procession fill the eager turbolift, he had to fight quite valiantly to keep from doing it again.

In the ready room, Jim sat at the head of the table with Richardson at the other; they exchanged a fleeting glance as the rest of his team settled into their seats with equally grim expressions. Sulu entered the room just as the last officer from the Excelsior relaxed and he sat down at Jim's left, leaving the seat to Jim's right vacant.

"Computer, cease all recording devices."

"Processing...Confirmed."

"Good," Jim looked around at the officers surrounding him, their eyes glued on his young butterscotch features. He pegged each and every one of them in the eyes, assailing them wordlessly with the authority that he possessed, "Everything spoken in this room must be kept under wraps unless indicated otherwise. We don't know if our frequencies are being monitored by the Romulan Empire and frankly, I don't want to get blown to pieces if they are. So, to summarize, just keep your mouth shut."

"Now that that's out of the way," Jim leant back in his chair and laced his fingers together in front of him on the table, "The conference will be held at 1600 hours tomorrow afternoon. We'll be discussing the treaty on the uninhabited, neutral planet Beta Omega XIV and we'll have to go down by shuttlecraft. There's something in the atmosphere that blocks transportation fields so once we're down there, we're down there for good."

"But can we really trust these Romulans?" Commander Naveed of the Excelsior interjected forcefully, his gaze going back and forth between Richardson and Jim, "How do we know this isn't a trap?"

"Commander Naveed," Jim nodded in acknowledgement, successfully suppressing his exasperation at the seemingly still pubescent man, "The Enterprise has in her possession the chip from Isha Suran, the Romulan emissary. Only we know the full extent of what's on it. They wouldn't dare kill us while we've got the chip in our possession."

"And if they do act? What are your orders?" Naveed prodded, his eyes boring holes into Jim.

"If the Romulans attack and we're still down there, we're probably dead. Lieutenant Sulu," Jim turned to the sullen helmsman, his gaze slightly glossed over, "It will be your responsibility to get the ship to the Starbase's coordinates and it will be Mr. Scott's job to destroy the chip and eject the evidence."

"Agreed," Richardson nodded and glanced towards the Lieutenant sitting two seats to his right, "Lieutenant Taylor, your orders are the same. Get the hell out of there as fast as you can alongside the Enterprise."

"Also," Jim added, "We're only allowed to bring three crew members down with us each. I am the only one permitted to carry a weapon on me as well; the Romulan spy indicated that this was some sort of custom with the Romulcan people and frankly, we're in no position to argue."

"I'll be bringing down my first officer Mr. Spock and my chief medical officer Dr. Leonard McCoy to accompany me. If we're to be stuck down there with the Romulans until the summit is over, I'll need the best doctor in the fleet to keep up with me. We all know what my track records like," Jim smirked a little and Richardson responded in kind, throwing Jim a withering look.

"Myself, my first Naveed and my security officer Lieutenant Iogos will accompany me," Jim glanced over towards the burly Orion officer and swallowed unconsciously, his eyes grazing over the heaping muscles of his arms and torso that were barely contained within the red fabric of his uniform.

"Great," Jim hooked a finger beneath his collar and loosened the tightened cloth around his neck with a sigh, "We won't be able to communicate with our ships while we're down on the planet either," Jim groaned softly, "We're basically at their mercy."

"And there's no way to implement some of our regulations? Why don't we have any say?" Naveed butted in, frowning at Jim with eager eyes.

"For every one of our ships, they have nine. Those odds don't look very negotiable to me."

"And what about the cloaking device? Have you obtained it?" Richardson asked, looking to his first to keep his mouth shut. Naveed wordlessly obliged, looking quite uncomfortable about it.

"It's being transferred to an external drive now. My first is reformatting and translating the device alongside my chief engineer presently and once it's done we'll start replicating the hardware needed to outfit the Enterprise and the Excelsior with it. I won't transmit the device logistics to the other ships until we've made the trade with the Romulans."

"And what of the chip? Have you copied it yet?" Naveed blurted out, unable to keep his voice from bursting out his lips any longer. Richardson looked bleakly at the man beside him, appearing to want to hit the man upside the head.

"It's been replicated to the last degree. It's impossible to tell that we've copied it."

"Alright, but are you sure that the Romulans won't detect the copy?"

Jim barely managed to keep his eyes from rolling; for the first time, he took a good look at Naveed and wondered pensively if he was related to the equally loose lipped Admiral Naveed, "We don't. But it's the best we can do."

"But-"

"Mohammed, please," Richandson muttered, holding up one of his hands towards the commander, "It's a leap of faith."

"Precisely," Jim replied, "But it's one we have no choice but to take."

Richardson nodded, "So that's it then. Treaty with the Romulans, hope that we get out alive and then reconvene two weeks later for an ambush."

"Sounds straight forward enough," Lieutenant Iogos muttered in agreement, cracking his olive hued knuckles as he laced them behind his bald head, "It's about time we get revenge."

"This isn't about revenge Iogos, it's about righting a wrong that never should have happened," Richardson muttered bitterly, glancing over towards Kirk; their expressions were equally mirrored, a picture perfect emblem of what was yet to come. The overhanging cloud of apprehension draped over the two of them like a perverse target, shining like a bright beacon in the dead of night. Jim and Richardson knew it too; it was apparent in the darkness of their eyes.

"Alright, you're dismissed," Jim announced absently, nodding to every crew member in the small ready room, "Thank you for your time." He and Richardson both got to their feet but paused at the table, their intentions to stay behind and discuss matters in private becoming clear to the subordinate officers on their way out the door. They hurried on through the gateway and back out onto the bridge, leaving the two weary captains unaccompanied.

"Have you heard from the Renard and the Regime yet?" Richardson inquired softly, failing to meet Jim's eyes because he already knew the answer.

Jim shook his head sombrely, "They should have replied already. My communications lieutenant has been hailing them every five minutes for the last half hour but has received no response."

"Damnit," Richardson grumbled, running his fingers through his salt and pepper hair with growing frustration. Jim felt similarly and they sat in a stalemate of silence, soundlessly brooding over what was yet to come until Richardson broke the hush.

"You trust this Romulan?" Richardson finally said, heaving back onto his chair and leaning back into the fabric's folds. Jim eyed him silently before doing the same.

"More than I would like," Jim replied, running his fingers through his unfurling mane, "I'm confident things will work out for us. The Romulans want the Demorian Conquest out of their hair just as much as us. They're probably looking at it this way; the more fireworks, the better the show."

Richardson grunted in reply and took in the young captain's appearance before him, momentarily narrowing his eyes before letting a mask of confusion settle over his visage, "Kirk, what the hell is wrong with your hair?"

As if on cue, Jim's right eye twitched languidly in exasperation, "Believe me Richardson, you _don't_ want to know."

* * *

It was just past 1700 hours when Jim lethargically resigned from the bridge towards his quarters. He spontaneously decided that he would take a shower before rummaging through the mess hall for something to eat, knowing that he wouldn't get another chance to fill his stomach for a good, long time.

He stepped into his bathroom and stared at his reflection in the mirror and laughed; it seemed that the proteins within every individual strand of hair had been undeniably altered, turning his once bright, golden tresses into a deep, charcoal black. He vaguely thought about replicating a bowl and a pair of scissors just for fun.

He stripped each article of clothing off his skin methodically, his body working without the signals of his mind. His thoughts were much farther away, lost in the process of reaching towards the faint presence in his mind once again.

He was shampooing his raven coloured hair in the shower when he finally broke through the barrier and saw through the eyes of his first, watching passively as the fingers he had no control over tapped along the station before him as if he were playing a concerto on a grand piano. He was still in engineering and they were near completion; the translation and programming of the Romulan cloaking device was being tweaked with the final touches and Jim could feel the simmering feelings of excitement brewing in Spock's subconscious.

With the final subroutine installed and working at peak proficiency, Spock stepped back and eyed the stolen technology with a carefully hidden curiosity. Scotty was bustling around the pillow sized device, bellowing orders to the various science officers and engineers in his drawling brogue. Spock stepped nearer to the Scotsman and bowed his head marginally in acknowledgement.

"A job weel done, eh laddie?" Scotty declared proudly, clapping his hands together as he eyed the newly refurbished food replicator in front of them, "Thare's mair than meets the eye to this wee device. It's sleekit, ain't it? A wee weapon o' disguise if yeh don mind meh sayin' so."

"The design of the device was undoubtedly clever," Spock replied, being one of the only members of the crew who could distinguish Scotty's strange choice of words and translate them into modern English, "I am impressed with the level of devotion shown in your department Mr. Scott. My commendations."

"Thare ah guid group o' officers. I'll hae 'em warkin' all nicht wit the replicatin'. We shuid be done by the morn's morn."

"Please alert the commanding officer on the bridge when you are finished with the replications. The parts must be transported to hanger six for storage in the selenium lined containers to avoid detection. Keep all communications coded."

"Yes Commander. Are yeh off noe?"

"I have a...pressing matter to attend."

"Aye," Scotty winked, "Yeh hae fun wit that!"

Spock raised an eyebrow, "Undoubtedly."

It was at this moment that Jim realized that Spock was indeed quite aware of the intruding presence in his mind. Upon entering a turbolift, Spock blocked the invasion with a subtle push and Jim found himself back in the shower stall, the smouldering water still falling over his heated flesh. Strangely enough, he found himself with an almost irritating itch somewhere between his eyes on his forehead and he suddenly realized that he wasn't alone.

He turned off the tap and stepped out of the shower, unsure of what exactly Spock might be seeing. He snatched the towel from the bar beside the stall and mussed his obsidian coloured hair with the porous cloth, rubbing his scalp as much as he could to rid the moisture from his dark tresses. He threw the towel to the floor soon after and caught a glance of himself in his bathroom mirror, dragging his eyes across the lines of his body in one smooth motion. His eyes grazed over the bulge of his butterscotch biceps and down his chiselled torso, scraping along the sturdy muscles of his thighs before pausing at the juncture of his groin, its embellishment fully established at the thought that someone other than himself might be enjoying the view. The presence in his mind flashed suddenly, freezing and flaring within him.

_Impressed Spock?_

The presence quickly relieved himself of Jim's company and it felt odd to be alone in his mind once again, though he was still grinning like a zealous Cheshire cat at himself in the mirror. Chuckling, he picked up the towel off the floor and wrapped it around his waist, allowing his jutting hip bones to protrude just above the hem of the cloth. A tuft of curly blondish hair projected from beyond the fold of the StarFleet towel and Jim shrewdly smirked to himself, leaving the bathroom and sitting behind his desk with a PADD in hand.

Unsurprisingly, the door to his quarters was overridden in a matter of minutes.

Spock strode in silently, unwaveringly so, and stopped in front of Jim's desk, starring as intently as Jim had ever seen him. Of course, Jim kept his eyes drawn towards the PADD in his hand, prolonging the Vulcan's obvious intensity until it drove him insane.

Or them insane. Either way, it wouldn't be long.

Finally dropping his PADD, Jim looked up at Spock and threw him a lopsided grin, meeting the onyx of his first's eyes with ease. The fire smouldering within them, however, was not.

"What can I do for you Commander?" Jim asked deviously, shifting his body slightly so that Spock would receive a better view of his exposed torso as the Vulcan leant over on his palms. He shuddered instinctively as the Vulcan's fiery gaze tore a hole in his flesh.

"You purposely tempt me. Why?"

Jim laughed at the Vulcan's blunt frankness; even if they had exchanged personality quirks, he certainly hadn't lost that one in that regard.

"I did no such thing. You were the one who invaded my mind this time after all."

"You _lie._"

His trademark smirk grew larger, "A trick I learned from an old friend."

Spock's eyes narrowed dangerously as he took a wide step around Jim's obtrusive desk, flanking him in an instant. In a flurry of contact Jim found himself pressed against the wall that hadn't been behind him only moments ago, pinned back by a pair of lukewarm hands. Yielding lips were on him in an instant, caressing the tender flesh beneath his ear with his coarse, practised tongue. Jim let a strangled puff of air escape his lips as the Vulcan ripped the towel from his toffee coloured skin, leaving him entirely and unequivocally bare.

Spock stepped back and smiled, the artificial lights from his bathroom throwing the Vulcan's features into sharp relief. Jim stared back at him, still pressed against the wall, his heart pounding feverishly in his chest; he had seen that look in Spock's eye before.

Right before Spock tried to kill him.

Again.

"Sp-Spock," Jim muttered quietly, fruitlessly attempting to quiet the bubble of dread and arousal rising from the pit of his stomach. He couldn't drag his eyes from the infinite depths of Spock's onyx orbs, entirely transfixed in the intensity of his gaze.

Spock took a step closer and let his smirk grow wider across his pointed features, the human instincts that had imprinted themselves in his mind finally overwhelming him again. This was _his_ property now and there was no one to claim it from him. It was his, all his.

_Mine, mine, mine._

"What-what are you doing?" Jim gasped as Spock ran his languid fingers along his torso, twisting the emotions of fear running through his bloodstream and sending it all below.

"A trick I learned from an old friend."

Three fingers pressed against the right side of Jim's face and he was _gone.

* * *

_

Thank you to MirrorFlower and DarkWind (thank you as always and I hope you enjoyed this little tidbit), inkfriends (cliffhangers are my love. I would die without them! Thanks!), Veglma (oh, I think the need to punch K'Tol will be imminent come the next few chapters! Thank you for your funny review!), K2 on Alcatraz (LOL! I was going to but I already have all my ships named and the USS Trillian was kind of pushing it...now I regret not calling that ship the Zaphod since Trillian was so freakin' annoying), SeverusPotterSnape (I hope you got your K/S fix in this chapter!), bookworm-4-ever2012 (well I hope everything is right in the world for you now! Thanks for the review!), swamud3u (I'm so glad you caught the Ipad reference! You're awesome! And I'm even more happy that I finally managed to stump you because...well...I can't tell you! But thank you again for your amazing review. Your words mean so much to me!) and lyricoloratura (I did this amazing dance of joy after receiving this review! I'm so unbelievably glad you like it because you're so damn good which...AH! You just make me incredibly happy okay?! We'll just leave it like that! Thank you SO much! Eee!!!)

Do you guys know how hard it was for me not to launch into the most epic sex scene of all time at the end of that? _Very_.

Review please! You know you want to see chapter 21, I know you do! Just drag your mouse to the little review button....come on...you can do it...yes...

Love and holy shit I might have a job!!!!!!

Brontë


	21. Chapter 21

OH CANADA! MY HOME AND NATIVE LAND!

I love watching the Olympics so much! Unfortunately, I've become distracted from my writing because I've been too busy cheering on my country. We're doing awesome, by the way.

Anyway, I was going to include the summit in this chapter but it would have been 10,000 words long so I chopped the chapter in half. Either way, if you want me to finish writing this before the end of the Olympics, I suggest you review!!!

And in other news, I'm still waiting for the call from my interviewer. Please, please call me soon! Melt down is quickly approaching!

Alrighty, here goes...

* * *

**Chapter Twenty One**

"Oh captain Kirk!" a saucy feminine voice drawled noisily through the speakers of the comm. link in Jim's quarters, "Your presence is requested on the bridge. That is, if you're not too _busy_."

Jim groaned despairingly and propped himself up on his elbows from his previously prone position, lolling his head to one side in exhausted lunacy, "Hurr?"

"And you too Spock. We're preparing to set off towards Beta Omega XIV and we're waiting for your commands."

Spock was gracious enough to lean over and effectively press the button that opened the channel back to the bridge, something that Kirk had so inelegantly forgotten, "We shall be arriving momentarily," he replied in his usual stoic tone even though the situation Nyota had caught him in was far from professional.

"Don't be too long boys!" she chimed with a stifled snort, cutting the connection and leaving the two of them alone and utterly naked due to the prior evening's events.

On the floor.

"Jesus Christ man," Jim moaned as he glanced down at his torso, his eyes enlarging when they grazed over the suspiciously hand shaped bruises peppering his hip bones. He turned his heavy head towards Spock and was unable to quell his gaping jaw, his eyes widened comically, "What the hell did we _do_ last night?"

Spock wrenched himself from his sitting position against the wall and steadied himself on his feet, gazing downwards and sidelong at the sprawled human beside him. The Vulcan couldn't help but smirk wistfully as he glanced at Jim's gleefully naked body, "You do not recall?" he asked, folding his arms gracefully behind him and nestling his hands at the small of his back.

Jim snorted and collapsed onto the textile floor again with a grunt, "Oh, I remember. But what the hell happened?"

Spock quirked his eyebrows and took a few step forward, bending down to snatch his uniform pants off the floor. Jim just about choked on his tongue as he caught a glance of Spock's olive flushed skin, his naked behind glowing innocently in the pale starlight that was filtering through the rectangular windows of the room. Spock slung the article of clothing over his forearm and raised himself once again, effectively covering his torso and his upper thighs from Jim's line of vision.

"If you are eloquent in the details of last night, it is probable that you can decipher what came to pass as well."

Jim rolled his eyes and hauled himself over onto his side, wincing slightly as his bruised hip bones dug into the floor. He felt the tension in Spock's lithe body as the Vulcan's eyes grazed over the green and blue contusion along the human's back and he blocked them through their link.

"We didn't have sex, did we?" Jim asked, his voice muffled as he spoke into his arm. Though Jim couldn't see him, he could sense the saucy smirk from Spock's slender lips driving into the back of his head.

"Not in the conventional way, no."

"Huh," Jim rolled onto his back again and ran his fingers through his now completely charcoal coloured hair. He stared up at the ceiling and followed the lines of the tiles with his tired blue eyes, thinking pensively about, "So that, _all_ of that, was in my head?"

"In a way, yes."

"You're being awfully vague this morning."

"That is because I am not entirely sure of what happened either."

"You? Unsure of something?"

"I have been unsure of many things throughout the past few weeks."

"Well I'll be."

"Your sarcasm is undesirable."

"Are you saying that I'm undesirable?" Jim asked in a mock hurt tone.

"That is irrelevant."

"You're irrelevant."

Spock rolled his eyes subtly and picked up the rest of his uniform scattered across the room. Jim watched him as he did this, completely riveted by the sharp lines of his body.

"But...we're both naked."

"Yes."

"And I'm absolutely exhausted."

"Likewise."

"But we didn't-"

"Mind melds combined with physical stimulus can provide," Spock paused for a moment, locking eyes with the uncovered human before him as another furtive smirk embellishing his features, "...acceptable results."

"I'd say," Jim shook his head to clear the white noise from his ears and pressed his palms to the floor to push himself upwards. He paused and brought his hand to his face for closer inspection, lifting a black eyebrow in inquiry, "But why am I so sticky?

* * *

"Initiate start up sequence. Warm her up slowly Scotty, we don't want an anti matter explosion on our hands."

"Aye Captain! We're havin' a wee bit o' trouble gettin' 'er back oonline."

"Take as long as you need. Let me know when she's ready."

"Aye! Scotty out!"

Jim looked up from the control panel on his arm rest and raised himself from his throne, strutting forwards towards the front of the bridge with his eyes on the Excelsior, "Lay in the coordinates and initiate the inlay Chekov. Five more minutes and we'll be running behind."

"Yes keptin," Chekov replied, his pale fingers flying over the station before him with effortless ease. He glanced sidelong towards the helmsman to his left and frowned with concern, his counterparts chestnut eyes half closed in a sleepy, half unconscious stupor.

Jim spun around and strode back to his initial position, bypassing his chair for the back of the bridge. He paused as he reached Uhura's station, bending over her shoulder slightly to speak with her in soft tones.

"Anything?" he asked quietly, the desperation in his voice enough to pull on Uhura's heartstrings.

"Nothing. I keep hailing them and I've gotten nothing back. I haven't even received an acknowledgement, just static; although I haven't gotten a return either," she closed her chocolate eyes and let a sigh of anxiety escape her parted lips, "What happened to them?"

"I don't know Uhura," he sighed and tried to quell the feelings of dread in the pit of this stomach, "But don't lose hope yet."

He gently squeezed her willowy shoulder and offered her a slight nod before returning to his seat. He collapsed upon the sparkling leather and pressed his comm. button, ordering the computer to direct the call towards engineering.

"Almos' thare captain! Gie meh twae mair minutes."

"Get going Scotty! I'd rather not be late."

"I'm goin'!"

Jim sighed and pressed his cheek to his palm, his elbow propping itself up against the armrest. They were running a few minutes late already and he didn't particularly want to be late for the epitome of all summits with the Romulans.

Jim got up again, his impatience getting the best of him, and made his way to the science officer on duty. He turned around as Jim approached him, already sensing the gold clad captain's intentions, "Yes sir?"

"Mr. Spock," he began, leaning over to get a better view of the screen in front of the Vulcan, "What can you tell me about Beta Omega XIV?"

"The planet is completely devoid of sentient life and flora. The atmosphere is twenty six percent oxygen, seventy one percent nitrogen and two percent methane. The surface is predominantly mountainous and does not seem to have been affected by erosion in the past hundred years. The weather on Beta Omega XIV is desiccated; it has not rained on the planet for as long as we have been familiar with it. Temperatures on the planet reach a maximum of 164°C on the equator and a minimum of 86°C at the poles. The planet is roughly the size of mercury and has two moons that are also devoid of life."

"164°C? We're going to fry!" Jim grimaced and pushed up his sleeves, already anticipating the blinding heat in his mind's eye.

"On the contrary captain," Spock countered, lowing his voice enough so that Jim had to bend closer to him, "Your internal body temperature has raised itself significantly. You will not be as harshly affected in comparison to your other human counterparts."

"Really?" Jim asked, his brows furrowing together in confusion, "By how much?"

"Your internal body temperature is approximately 41°C. In comparison, a regular human temperature would be 33°C."

"Huh," Jim pulled himself upright and kept his eyes on the picture of the bleak planet in front of him, contemplating silently on what else had changed within his body, "Let Bones know about the temperature changes. Make sure that he's well stocked with temperature altering hypos for the other members of the away team. We have to be ready for anything."

"I shall endeavour to do so."

Jim didn't miss the uncharacteristic smile that splayed on the Vulcan's face and he cherished it for the moment. Ever since they unceremoniously exchanged their DNA, Spock had been flashing the human side he had only seen a few times before quite often and it exhilarated him to no end, prompting him to smile inwardly despite the current situation staring him in the face. With Spock at his side, even with the extinction of StarFleet on his shoulder, he felt he was capable of just about anything.

"Captain!" Scotty's voice erupted from Jim's comm. and Jim scampered over to his chair, pressing the button with anticipation, "We hae warp engines!"

"Great. Thanks Scotty, keep her going."

"Aye captain!"

"Sulu," Jim called out, gazing across the room towards the helmsman, "Warp factor five."

Sulu didn't move.

Chekov leant over and shook the unconscious helmsman in his seat, effectively breaking him out of his eerie trance. Sulu awoke with a start and glanced over with wild, maple coloured eyes as he followed the hand that was gripping his bicep to the body where it originated from.

"Sulu?" Jim asked, stepping towards the helmsman with concern lacing his gait. The captain came up beside him as Sulu fumbled with the controls, trying to figure out and remember what he was supposed to be doing.

"I'm fine sir," he breathed quickly, refusing to make eye contact with his superior officer, "Just a little tired. What are my orders?"

Jim frowned, eyeing the bandage on Sulu's forehead again. He trusted Bones but this was beginning to become a little disconcerting, "Warp factor five."

"Yes sir," Sulu muttered in reply, punching in the orders with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. He gripped the shaft of the warp shift and pressed it forward, thrusting the Enterprise into open, empty space and towards the summit that would hopefully change everything.

Jim sighed heavily and sat back down into his chair, rubbing forcefully against the growing stubble on his chin and cheeks in apprehension.

Games he could play. But when it came to the art of waiting, well...

Jim was bust.

* * *

Out of everything, he hated waking up the most.

The mornings were always dark and stormy where he was stationed, and the air still had that same reek of death as it did everywhere else. Legions of medical wards lined the vast rebel camp, nestled quaintly in the mountainous ranges of the upper continent, and the bodies of innocent Demorians the nurses couldn't save made him sick every time he saw them. The mass cremations were the worst; every damn hour the population depleted, the blameless citizens of this god forsaken planet being used as experimental hosts by the government.

Kehdrak was more than surprised that his planet's oppressive government hadn't found the rebel camp yet, considering that the site spanned more than three kilometres in each direction and rarely moved. Wrenching himself out of bed and rolling his shoulders, the young Demorian didn't bother himself anymore with thinking and got to work as he always did every morning since he was unceremoniously drafted.

He had been stationed as a junior nurse for the first week or so after his arrival but he was quickly transferred to the tactical and weaponry departments. His impressive physique and cognitive abilities put him above the other newly appointed officers in the substantial division, propelling him through the masses of soldiers and into the good books of the renowned General Krekakra, who was better known as The General to all that revered him.

The General had once been the acme of the conquest's sprawling fleet and the brainchild behind the greatest tactical advances in Demoria's enormous military history. His strategic abilities and cognitive prowess far surpassed any other officer in the ranks at the time, driving him up towards the top of the proverbial food chain and therefore landing himself a spot alongside some of the cruellest leaders ever to grace the galaxy. He was world famous, and rightfully so.

He was, after all, the man who had invented the biobomb.

The deep rooted gash that scarred the entire right side of his face reminded him each and every day of his unspeakable invention and that thought alone was enough to push him through his regret so that he could stop what he had so unwittingly started. His treason against the conquest had cost him half his face, his eye and the mobility of his right leg and damn it all if he was going to let those murderous bastards get away with it.

The test subjects he was so devoted to save were thrown in rot filled cages and left to die in the cold winter night behind the labs in Demorialis. The General would outfit guerrilla teams and medical squads with his ingeniously unpredictable plans that allowed for near success almost every time to save them. They would bring as many as they could back to the wards in the mountains to heal them in hopes that they would mend well enough to become officers themselves.

Oftentimes the naked, disfigured and bawling creatures wouldn't survive.

That morning, The General was pacing the tent, as he often did each morning before a raid. After what seemed like hours staring at the squat, blemished Demorian, The General paused in his stride to motion Kehdrak over with a stubby, crooked finger.

"Soldier," he croaked in his low baritone, glancing upwards at his protégé through the sickly yellow iris that still had the ability to see, "You say your team has detected a large movement within the confinement camps?"

Kehdrak nodded pointedly, not vocally answering any questions until he was questioned directly.

"Is the information sound?"

"Yes sir. I confirmed the information personally sir."

"Well then," The General smiled eerily, the dim light of the yellow lamps in the tent throwing his features into ghastly shadows, making him look far more uncanny than Kehdrak would like to admit, "It seems we have something to celebrate. I had been anticipating this for weeks now. AH Central must have finally made their move," The General wrapped his stumpy arm around Kehdrak's nimble body, "Speaking of which, any word from AH?"

"Sir?" another officer got up from his seat across the tent and took a wary step forwards, beckoned to continue only by The General's eager glare, "Our spies there have confirmed that the communication was not detected. The broadcast was overlooked by all transceivers and they are still oblivious to our intentions sir."

The General cracked another ominous smile and glanced down at Kehdrak once again, bathing him in his yellow, gleeful glare, "Amass an assembly together, full spread. One nurse for every six, full guerrilla allot, tactics, artillery, communications, you name it," he tugged Kehdrak before him with his squat arms, gazing with scrutiny at the young Demorian before him, "You're leading this one soldier. I expect everyone alive when you return."

Kehdrak swallowed his shock and kept his jaundiced eyes on the ex-conquest man before him; The General's meaningless badges he wore on his chest gleamed at him in the muted lights, effectively blinding him as the weight of his current assignment rested heavily on his shoulders. Only weeks ago he had been sitting alone in the rotting streets of Demorialis, pining over the loss of everyone he held dear. Now he was leading one of the biggest raids the rebel camp had ever seen to free a huge group of mistreated, tortured harlots and whores.

"Yes sir," Kehdrak replied forcefully, his voice wavering slightly as he tried to quell the emotions that were swelling up inside of him. Images of his sisters, taken by pimps and sold on the market flashed through his mind and he fought to keep his fleeting optimism from distracting him from his current responsibility. With a curt nod, he left The General's tactical tent and moved to the main pavilion to start amassing his group of soldiers.

* * *

Isha rolled her heavy shoulders and sighed quietly, gazing from her perch to the doors she knew would open soon. The couch was relatively uncomfortable, but it would do considering the aforementioned events of the past few weeks. She shook her head slightly as she freed her jet black hair from its clip, allowing the fragrance of the oils she used in her hair to fill the sparsely decorated room.

She looked down at the folds of clothing that swathed her left arm below the elbow with regret and sadness, knowing now that her position as a field officer was over. She had yet to regain feeling in the permanently discoloured limb and she was keeping it purposely hidden from everyone except for the distasteful human doctor who came to check on her twice a day.

Cracking a smirk, she vaguely wondered why Terran medicine hadn't found a way to cure cantankerous, belligerent people.

She was unsurprised when the doors chimed not one minute after 1800 hours and Isha allowed for the assumed visitor to enter, smiling pleasantly as the tall, blue clad body strode into the foyer of the room and settled himself on his feet across from her.

"Commander," she nodded her head in acknowledgement and smiled, "The facial hair is rather flattering."

He shifted uncomfortably and rubbed his rough cheeks with one of his palms discreetly, stifling the all too human emotion of embarrassment that flooded through his bloodstream, "It was...unanticipated."

Isha snorted slightly and let her smile grow at the Vulcan's obvious discomfort, "I've never seen such a change in two bonded individuals. It is strange..." she propped her uninjured limb upon the armrest of the couch and settled her chin into her palm, "Or is there more to this union than meets the eye?"

"It is of a personal matter," Spock divulged quietly, "But you are not entirely mistaken."

"Is your captain similarly affected?"

"Yes."

"Then this will cause more problems than it will solutions, you are aware."

"Quite."

Isha threw him an ironic quirk of her eyebrow, "You haven't told him yet."

Spock looked guilty, "I have not."

"And are you planning to?"

"I do not think it is prudent to distract him before the summit."

"Do you think this is a wise decision?"

"...No," Spock gazed over his shoulder and eyed the couch across from her, sitting gingerly upon it, "I do not."

"You Vulcans," she shifted her body slightly, unintentionally baring her injured arm to her visitor, "You think you're so high and mighty but we're all the same inside. Illogical, irrational, dare I say emotional?"

Spock's eyes grazed over the Romulan's injured appendage and Isha automatically covered it again, throwing him a steely glance as her words sunk into Spock's skin. He quirked his eyebrow thoughtfully but declined from commenting on either predicament, finding solace in the comfortable peace that settled in the room.

A few minutes passed while they eyed each other, both of them without words as they pondered their current situations, each as unique as the person who was contemplating them. Spock's eyes kept falling over the smooth ripples of fabric that ran over the length of Isha's wounded arm in veiled hope that he might learn more about it.

"Curiosity killed the cat?"

Spock's head shot up, "I beg your pardon?"

"Terran proverb," she replied smiling wistfully, "You should learn more about your home planet Spock. At least you have one left."

"Are you implying that the people of Romulus will not acknowledge you if you are to go through with the plan?"

"I..." she trailed off and looked down at her concealed limb, "There is no one left for me now there anyway. My family was murdered by Demorians and my entire career is lost. The ops team was all that I had left."

"It is still you home."

"A lifetime of exile in the form of asylum is better than rotting in a prison cell. I would rather go out as a traitor than a martyr."

Spock stiffened slightly, "Then you will proceed with the plan."

"Of course. I never intended to reject it."

"And you are aware of the repercussions?"

"Don't insult my intelligence commander."

"Then you will destroy the blueprints once the battle has started, even at the risk of your own life?"

"Yes."

"And you will aid the Federation with future endeavours concerning operation teams in exchange for asylum after your defection from the Romulan Empire?"

"Yes."

"Then, as a representative of the Federation, I am granting you full asylum on the grounds that you complete your mission. Should you do so, your freedom will be established and the proper defensive precautions will be taken should you require protection."

"Thank you commander," Isha smiled and offered her open palm in gratitude, "I hope to be the first of many who endeavour to escape their tyranny."

Spock nodded his head in acknowledgement, "You are welcome. Once the summit is over, I will alert the captain to the situation; he will no doubt approve of our tactical preparation."

"I'm sure he will," she replied with a quiet grin as Spock got up from the couch to leave the room. He was almost at the doorway when Isha shouted out, effectively stopping Spock in his tracks.

"Yes?"

"You might want to shave that beard commander," she said with a Cheshire grin, "The Romulan's consider facial hair to be a sign of a submissive personality."

"I assure you that I am not-"

"While copulating."

Isha watched in hysterical amusement as his pointed ears flushed bright green before he spun around and left the small guest quarters for good.

* * *

Thank you to: rebelwilla, MirrorFlower and DarkWind (Naughty Jim! He definitely deserved it), K2 on Alcatraz (Hah! Second bridge! That is an amazing idea. I may have to steal it and make a story out of that, just for fun!), One Winged Royko (here it is!), Bubbly714 (Thank you Allie! I'm honoured that you consider Uncharted to be one of your favourites and Jim's black hair is definitely the funniest thing to imagine in the world), Lyricoloratura (Baha, t'was the mind sex! You and your sexual innuendos, you should be ashamed! Then again, I can make sexy jokes out of everything. Love you and thank you!), Sharingan-Fer-Sure (Thank you so much!!), FallenAngelKiya (If I do go off and post a separate sexy fic, it'll be at an even better moment I promise!), Veglma (FUNTIMESYAYAYA! I love me some Orion), bookworm-4-ever2012 (Thank you! It will only get yummier in the future I promise), swamud3u (it was a link back to that episode actually! Cookies to you for picking that out! And you've hit the nail on the head when it comes to McCoy; he's got a tendency to fuck niceties up. And the summit will be no exeption!), SeverusPotterSnape (Hah! I will forever leave you guys hanging! I promise you though, there will be some yummy K/S coming very soon! Be patient!) and calipalace x2 (Yay! I have a number one fan! Hugs of love to you Courtney! That rant was probably the best thing I've ever you for all the positive compliments and inspiring words! I always love to hear from you!)

If any of you can guess which two countries (their history, not their current status) I allude to when I'm describing Demoria and Romulus, I'll give you a hint as to what will happened next!

Love and fluff,

Brontë


	22. Chapter 22

Guess what guys? I got the job! I am officially EMPLOYED!

Oh, and I just want to remind you Americans of a little something that happened on the weekend. It's called a little thing called hockey and the Canadians whooped your asses halfway to next week. I, along with every other Canadian now have the right to berate you on your inferior hockey skills. It's our sport silly! :D OH CANADA!

On a side note, this is the first part of a mother load of a chapter. I had to divide it because it was ginormous. So here's the first bit and I hope you enjoy.

And review.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Two**

"Captain to the bridge! What the hell is going on?"

Jim was not at all amused as his ship shook and quaked back and forth on its proverbial foundations, jostling him left and right as he attempted to make it into the closest turbolift without smashing his head in.

"Err...yeah," a voice replied indifferently, one that Jim immediately recognized as the commander he had just about had it with, "We're experiencing an anomaly."

"Idiot," Jim muttered with exasperation, gripping a shaft of metal on the ceiling with his every ounce of his life. Gravitational balancers were obviously on the fritz as he shot by one of the science labs, vaguely noticing that their equipment was floating haphazardly around the well lit room. The scientists were running, or rather drifting around in mid air like a flock of chickens with their heads cut off, yelling out orders they couldn't fulfill.

Jim stifled a smile; he couldn't quite help it.

He finally managed to get himself into a turbolift and was slightly deterred when he became utterly buoyant, wafting this way and that as the ship jostled and wobbled like a spoonful of jelly. He called out for the machine to take him to the bridge and the rickety contraption complied, thrusting itself upwards towards the final upper level.

Then, the doors opened and Jim immediately splattered onto the floor.

There was a sprinkling of quiet laughter that came from the various on-duty officers but it was instantly quelled when they saw the look of hostility plastered on their young captain's face. His charcoal hair shone sadistically in the artificial lights as he got to his feet and strode over towards the commander on duty, still sitting obliviously in his chair.

"Get out of my chair," he growled to the commander and with a violent start, Ford sprung to his feet and scuttled backwards in inherent shock, "Why the hell would you lead this ship into an ion storm?"

"Err...I-I-I...I-I don't know," Ford replied with a stutter, completing the irritating gesture with his trademark hesitations. Feeling a sudden surge of uncharacteristic fury swell within him, he gestured for the commander to step closer to him.

"You don't know? Really? Well that's funny because you're a commander and you should know that this ship isn't equipped to hold up against an ion storm for very long," he grabbed at the commander's collar and brought his face only inches away from his, his face menacing and his eyes cruel, "But you lead us in anyway. I'm going to assume that you were at least competent enough to raise shields?"

"I raised them sir," a blue clad ensign proclaimed from behind them and Jim nodded sardonically in acknowledgement.

"It's pretty hilarious that an ensign knows more than you do," Jim snorted and shook his head, "Where the fuck are your brains man?" Jim released the commander's collar and began to circle him like an animal, eagerly preparing for the kill, "This is the third snag you've put me in Ford. First, you deliberately murdered a peaceful creature that belonged to an endangered species and almost got _me_ court marshalled for it and then you managed to break a dilithium chamber in one of your petty rages and _now_ you run us into an ion storm and you don't even attempt to change course? What the hell is with you?"

Commander Ford's face started to redden and he crouched in his stance, glaring his superior officer in the eyes with a steely glance, "Nothing is wrong with me. It's you! It's all of you!"

In a blink of an eye, Ford was on him.

Jim instantly blocked the flurry of punches aimed at his face and caught Ford's leg midway through a violent kick at the kidneys, effectively flipping the irate commander onto his back. The security officers stepped forwards and prepared to fire on him with their phasers but Jim stopped them with a raised palm, indicating to everyone around him that this fight was _his_.

Throwing himself on top of the ex Marine, Jim pinned Ford to the ground and planted his eager feet, wrenching Ford upwards with a forceful shove and a swift kick to the knees. The commander steadied himself on his feet, howling in agonized vehemence, and he tried to throw another punch at the captain's temple once again but was stunned when a pair of pale hands crept up behind him and efficiently dislocated his shoulder. The commander fell to his knees in anguish and Jim exchanged a brief nod of thanks in his first officer's direction.

"Effective," Jim commented with a smirk. Spock smiled minutely and strode over to Jim's position, taking his rightful place beside his captain, both of them simultaneously bending at the waist to stare the insubordinate, stupid officer in the eyes, "You are hereby relieved of commanding duty Ensign Ford," Jim reached down towards Ford's sleeve and snatched the fabric roughly in his grasp, ripping two of the golden bands off of his uniform at the seams. The incensed commander seethed with rage and leapt to his feet, his black eyes staring daggers into Jim's statuesque form.

"You'll pay for this," he growled fervidly, clutching his injured arm gingerly with his other, "You'll all pay for this."

A smug grin painted Jim's expression, "Get out of my sight."

The newly demoted officer spun on his heels and exited the bridge with a furious line of expletives and Jim turned his lip in disgust, rotating away from the poor excuse for an officer he had been hoping to relegate for a while. The only reason he had kept him on for so long was because of his genius level abilities in just about every aspect of technology.

_With the proper technology_, Jim thought uneasily, _he would be capable of just about anything_.

Rolling his shoulders to release the tension in his overwrought muscles, Jim turned to his first officer and clapped a gentle hand against the Vulcan's upper arm, "Thanks for the save. But I had him."

"I had no doubt," Spock replied, his eyes twinkling with hidden delight, "But I wanted to 'get into the action', as you would say, myself."

Jim laughed, the hostile feelings of the previous event beginning to fade as the adrenaline coursing through his frenzied body subsided, "No Vulcan nerve pinch this time?"

"The dislocation was more..." Spock trailed off, running his sensitive fingers against his newly shaven chin, "Satisfying."

Jim threw him an incredulous smirk and snorted, leading him over to the captain's chair, "Well at least you weren't practicing on me this time."

The tension on the ship slowly ebbed away as the ship was released from the brutal grasp of the ion storm. The Enterprise was relatively unscathed thanks to the ensign at the defence station's quick thinking and Jim thanked his lucky stars over and over again. He expressed his gratitude towards the bashful officer once again and took his respective place on the bridge, sitting casually in his shining, leather chair.

"Current position?"

"T minus thirty minutes sir. Shall I initiate the shift change?"

"Yeah. Get Alpha up here immediately. We'll need a fresh pair of eyes if we're going to be dealing with those crazy fuckers."

The ensign nodded and tapped into the ship's communications, instructing the officers of the Alpha bridge crew to take up their position at their stations. Within minutes, Chekov, Uhura and many other familiar faces began to flood onto the bridge, all of them looking to be in various states of dishevel.

"Geez Chekov, what happened to you?" Jim leered playfully, stifling his chuckles at the sight of Chekov's hair. The usually curly mass of blond curls was completely straight and looked to be slightly damp. Jim raised an eyebrow as Chekov spun around in his chair and glared at the captain with his angriest face.

"Eet is all his fault!" he screeched, his index finger pointing accusingly at the helmsman beside him. Sulu threw him a sheepish grin and shrugged his shoulders at Jim before turning back to his station once again.

"You know, as much as I'd like to know the details, I think I'll pass for the sake of my sanity," Jim drawled, throwing the pouting navigator a cheerful wink and the teenaged officer dejectedly turned back to his station, glaring sidelong at the man beside him with his bleary blue eyes.

"I hate you," he muttered quietly, punching at a button with unnecessary force.

"No you don't Pavel. You love me and you know it."

Both of them fought to ignore the bright pink blush that painted over Chekov's cheeks at the comment.

Meanwhile, as Jim attempted to exert his mental callisthenics on raising crew morale to everyone on the bridge, the Enterprise came to a halt in orbit around the deserted planet known as Beta Omega XIV. The sight of the six huge Romulan war birds floating opposite of them nearly caused him to swallow his tongue.

"Holy shit."

Jim, along with the rest of the officers on deck were frozen in their seats, not one of them even paying attention as the Excelsior came out of warp beside them. Jim gulped audibly and stiffened in his chair, feeling awfully apprehensive about leaving his ship all alone in the presence of six gigantic enemy ships whose technology and weaponry far surpassed anything they had on them at the moment. He was only guesstimating, but he was pretty positive that one of those things was bigger than the two of the Federation ships present put together.

"Incoming hail captain. Should we answer? It's not the Excelsior."

"Tap it through. The faster we get this over with, the faster we can get back to the StarBases."

"Yes sir."

Jim thought his stomach had transported outside of his body and was being beaten with a rather zealous baseball bat. He was immeasurably nervous but he didn't let his overwhelming emotions take over him physically. He reached out towards the small presence in the back of his mind for security and was embraced in return, a calm and reassuring warmth settling over him from the inside.

The picture on the screen shuddered violently for a moment; the image quickly stabilized and the image of a Romulan materialized in sharp relief before him, its eyes boring holes into Jim's own. The bridge behind him was enrobed with greenish hues and dark lights, casting an eerie glare over everything in the scene of vision. The Romulan appeared to be smiling, but as far as Jim was concerned, he couldn't really tell.

"Captain Kirk, welcome."

* * *

Nurse Christine Chapel winced visibly at the crash that came from the chief medical officer's bureau but didn't turn around, already afraid as to what may or may not have been going on in there. With a vague but unlikely hope that the crashing and grunting in there might be because of a private rendezvous with the Enterprise's chief linguistics lieutenant, Chapel escaped into the deeper reaches of sickbay so that she wouldn't be caught by McCoy if he was in there alone.

Unsurprisingly, McCoy stomped out of his office all by himself, a briefcase full of medical supplies in one hand and a communicator in the other. Chapel couldn't really hear what he was saying from her position behind the cabinet but she could tell he wasn't particularly pleased. Letting out a small sigh of relief, the irritable doctor clomped out of his place of work without a word in her direction; she got to her feet from her hiding place and watched with amusement as the rest of the nurses and doctors on duty did the same.

Meanwhile, McCoy was making his way, albeit loudly, towards the closest turbolift. He stepped into the thing and growled his orders at the machine with an evil glint of death in his eye; only _Jim_ would get him roped into a Romulan escapade and not tell him about it.

The lift rose and came to a halt in seconds and the doctor stepped out of the confounded contraption once again, sending him into another bout of grouchy, overwrought mumblings about technology and death. He swung his briefcase haphazardly alongside of him and garbled an apology when he charley-horsed an ensign in the leg, continuing on like it never happened; there were far more important things to treat than a bruise.

Like Jim's insanity.

He flipped open his communicator and stared at it longingly before flipping it closed again and tucking it into his belt; he wished he had time to say something to Nyota but it was too late now. He rubbed his rough cheeks with the palm of his hand and sighed, hoping despondently that he would survive to see her smile again.

"Bones!"

He spun around and frowned as he got a cursory eyeful of the dark haired human and he had to steal a double take just to remind himself who it was. The paler looking ex-blond quickly jogged up beside him and clapped the good doctor on the shoulder.

"Good god Jim. Get a bowl why don't you."

Jim snorted and shot him a playful glance, "Hey! I still look extraordinarily sexy. Besides, I think it's a good look."

"You're an infant, you know that?"

"I know," Jim smiled and McCoy's lips curled up uncharacteristically into a wry grin, "You tell me every day."

They continued in matching stride down the long corridors of the Enterprise, their playful banter resonating back and forth as they carried on. McCoy's psychological exercises were working on him as he kept Jim's mind off the current situation, taking it upon himself to alleviate the stress that was going to crush him if he didn't control it.

They strode into the shuttle bay and they immediately quelled their voices, their conversation stopping dead in their throats. Spock was already there, speaking in hushed tones alongside of Commander Naveed, whose grating insistences that they take further precautions echoed throughout the vast room. Physically, a regular bystander would not have been able to tell that Spock wished to throw him out of an air lock but Jim sensed the irritation swelling through their connection and cracked an ironic smile, jogging casually to his side.

"Commander Naveed," Jim acknowledged before turning towards his first officer, "Mr. Spock, mind if you join me? I have some final details to discuss."

"Of course captain," Spock replied, his relief bleeding through the link. Once they were out of earshot from the fidgeting commanding officer, Spock let the steely tone of his voice melt away, "I am exceptionally relieved by your intervention. Thank you."

"No worries," Jim smiled and swallowed the forming lump in his throat, "Are we ready?"

"Nearly. Take off sequences are being established as we speak."

"Great," Jim ran his fingers through his darkened locks and wordlessly beckoned Spock to follow him, striding across the shuttle bay towards the control office. They stepped into the small room and Jim politely ordered the two officers to leave so that they could speak privately; the two ensigns immediately left the room for them, knowing by the look on Jim's face that he meant business. Once the doors had closed and every prying eye was distracted, Jim turned towards his first officer and sighed jadedly, collapsing in a chair.

"What the hell am I going to do Spock?" he asked, the desperation in his voice uncharacteristically present. He tore at his hair as thoughts of what was yet to come came crashing down upon him at it was driving him senseless. They _still_ hadn't heard from the Renard and the Regime, they _still_ hadn't received any sign that StarFleet was still in existence; it was making him _insane._

"You are going to do what you have always done," Spock replied simply, his stoic appearance dropping dramatically as his human instincts took over once again. Pulling up a chair beside his troubled captain, he placed a comforting hand on his forearm and gazed upwards at his distraught face.

"And what's that Spock?" Jim asked, turning his head away from the gently onyx eyes beside him. He bit his lip and waited for Spock's answer, already knowing what he was going to say.

"You shall persevere as always. I will be at your side, should you require me."

Jim snorted and turned his cerulean eyes towards Spock, his lips pursed upwards in a wry grin, "I don't think I'd make it out of there alive without you."

"For once, I am not able to correct you on your exaggeration."

Jim groaned and dug his palms into his eyelids, "...lovely."

"Jim!" a voice growled from outside the doors of the office, "Finish up whatever damn mind voodoo shit you and your hobgoblin are doin' and get the hell out here!"

Jim smiled, genuinely this time, and strode towards the doors. He opened them and burst out at the horrified doctor, lifting his hands up and wiggling his fingers at McCoy's traumatized visage, "Ooogabooga!"

The doctor jumped backwards and Jim laughed sadistically, wagging his eyebrows as he made his way past and Spock followed suit, receiving a look of revolt from the doctor before heading out on his way. The procession of three made their way back into the main shuttle bay to convene with Richardson and his crew for the final time before leaving.

"Kirk," Richardson acknowledged, "We're waiting on you."

"Then let's get going," Jim nodded and beckoned for his team to enter the shuttle in front of him. He grabbed a fully charged phaser from an ensign to his left and tucked it into his boot so that it wouldn't be obvious. He wanted to appear as harmless as possible in hopes that maybe, just maybe, the Romulans would take it easy on them and not blow them to smithereens.

As the last member of the six man crew still outside of the shuttle, he took a quick look over and entered the humming shuttle himself. He initiated the air lock on the door and sighed with the knowledge that there was no turning back now.

Iogos looked over his shoulder and with a quick nod to Jim, he commenced the start-up sequences and got the shuttle off the ground. Within seconds they were thrust forwards by the machine's droning engines and they were out into space.

_There's no way back now._

The blankness of space outside of the Enterprise was deafening; the silence of the darkness was blinding. Jim strapped himself in beside Spock and glued himself against the wall, his eyes staring widely out and beyond the forward screen. He ignored Naveed as he paced back and forth, chattering aimlessly to Richardson who was rolling his eyes every time his first officer turned his back to him. He ignored McCoy's frenzied fingers as he tapped away on his PADD, typing some sort of desperate letter. Absently, Jim wondered if it was his last testament.

As they entered the outer thermosphere, the turbulence began.

The ship was shaking so hard that Jim's teeth were chattering and he was viciously gripping the armrests unconsciously as he tried to turn his head. Naveed had been thrown onto his side and tossed somewhere towards the back of the shuttle and Richardson, Jim knew, would have been laughing if he hadn't been seizing his seat belt so hard.

"Jesus Iogos, what the hell?" Richardson shouted, unbuckling himself and clutching the bars to his right. He made his way up to the front of the shuttle and strapped himself in to the co-pilot's chair.

"We're almost through it," Iogos replied, pushing the nose of the vessel down a little further, "No wonder transmissions are impossible. It's even trying to deflect our shuttle."

Richardson grunted a reply and tried to engage the secondary dampeners. He had no luck with that and pushed more power towards the forward shields instead in hopes that they would get out of there without a set of broken teeth.

Bursting through the upper mesosphere, the shuttle's nail biting tremors began to slow and the six man crew let out a collective sigh of relief. Naveed peeled himself off of the floor and cried out, drawling the unwilling attention of the doctor just ahead of him. With a heaving sigh, Bones got to his feet and followed the whining to its source.

"Great. We ain't even ten minutes into this suicide mission and we already have a broken bone," he rolled his eyes and slammed a hypospray to the garrulous commander's neck, effectively knocking him unconscious on the floor. Smirking, he pulled the bone knitter out of his medcase and turned it on, aiming the little device at Naveed's limp wrist, "I like him better this way, don't you?"

Richardson laughed and clapped his hand on Iogos's shoulder, looking back at the doctor with an amused snort, "Try working with him. I've pulled out the duct tape more than once."

"Duct tape sir?" Spock asked, successfully breaking Jim out of his reverie. Jim could sense Spock's incredulousness from the bond they shared and he knew that the Vulcan was playing dumb.

"You know, to tape his mouth shut so I don't have to hear him," Richardson replied with a sardonic smirk, shrugging his shoulders, "It works wonders."

"I'm sure it does," Spock replied, his own eyebrows rising at his use of contractions. Jim shared the sentiment as Richardson turned around, preparing for their landing onto the arid, dusty desert planet.

From what Jim could see outside of the forwards screen, the planet looked harmless enough. Similar to the landscapes of Mars, Beta Omega XIV was mountainous and covered in orange and red sands. Plains of featureless land stretched for miles until their tendrils reached the gigantic peaks that rose like frozen sentinels over the motionless earth.

As the shuttle dipped further into the greater troposphere, dust began to coat the forward screen like a sticky glue. Iogos grumbled heatedly as he tried to clear the shuttle's vision only to become more frustrated when his efforts were in vain. He sighed and accepted the fact, along with everybody else in the wavering shuttle, that they were landing blind.

Dragging the still unconscious Naveed into the main part of the ship by the armpits, McCoy hoisted the commander into a seat and strapped him in. McCoy plopped down himself onto his respective throne and picked up his PADD once again, fiddling with the controls until he got back to whatever he was writing.

A few minutes later, Iogos broke the comfortable silence that had been growing in the shuttle; each of the six men had been so completely enrobed in what they had been doing in an attempt to forget what they were about to do, "Sensors show that we'll be hitting land soon but they could be confused. They might not be detecting the sand."

"Set her down as slowly as you can," Richardson replied, flicking a few switches himself, "We're at the right spot. I don't think they'd give us the coordinates to a canyon."

McCoy snorted, "Never know with these crazy fuckers. They blow up planets man, planets."

"The Romulans you are referring to were from one hundred plus years into the future," Spock replied, turning towards the cantankerous doctor with a composure that could rival no other.

"Ah, shut up."

"Likewise."

"Now, now you two," Jim interjected, smiling slightly at their unlikely friendship, "Let's be men here."

"There is no query to my gender captain," Spock was mocking him now.

"I know Spock, I know."

McCoy tried his best to wipe the images of Jim's shit-eating grin out of his mind but...he couldn't. He sighed and filed it into the back of his memory for the therapy he would no doubt require in the future.

"Brace for impact everybody," Iogos called over the din of the engines, slowly lowering the vehicle downwards until the landing gear hit solid ground. The crew tensed in anticipation, propping themselves against their armrests for the collision they knew would come.

_Thump._

The shuttle landed lightly on the sandy dunes and Iogos let out a sigh of relief, flicking off a multitude of switches and shutting the space vehicle down.

_Thump._

Iogos ignored the muffled thud, figuring that it was just the sand getting stuck in some gears. He brought the lever that controlled the engines back to its neutral position and he listened patiently as their drone quieted to a light hum before turning off completely.

_Thump._

Jim and Spock almost simultaneously unbuckled their seat belts and got to their feet, striding purposely to the forward screen. Jim pressed his face to the impenetrable material in an attempt to see passed the gummy, solid sand.

_Thump._

"Mister Spock," Jim began, his voice shaking slightly, "Didn't you say that this planet was devoid of life?"

"Yes, I did sir."

"And where did you acquire this information?"

"The StarFleet directory sir."

"Well, they obviously didn't do a very good job of scouting the place out," Jim turned around to face the procession before him and gulped, "We're about to get stepped on."

* * *

Thanks to: MirrorFlower and DarkWind (Yeah, Isha is a saucy bitch like that! Thanks!), bookworm-4-ever2012 (Oh, it happened alright. Thanks!), K2 on Alcatraz (Yay! Thank you! I will definitely have to write it soon. It's been too long since I've written humour), swamud3a (ahh...ethics. I wish I wasn't so insane because this story is beginning to become insanely philosophical. Demorian society is my dabble into ethics, and we'll be touching more on The General. Yay emotional turmoil! As I am an evil person, it shall continue! Thank you always!), YourDarkMistress (Who needs acid when you can get Uncharted for free! The descriptions will come, don't you worry, but they'll be spread out so that each and every chapter you'll see a different aspect of them. Thanks!), SeverusPotterSnape (MORE SPOCK/KIRK COMING HOLD YOUR HORSES! Thanks!), lyricoloratura (I'm glad you like the Demorian side story. I had been dying to delve into the situation from another point of view and it might actually be my favourite to write. If I could draw, The General would be the most badass bitch on the block! Thanks!), Veglma (Mind sex is quite good for the soul. In fact I recomend it. *creepy eyebrow wiggle* Thank you dear!), to lazy to log in (your name made me laugh so hard because I do that all the time to! Thanks!), Lyall of the Rose (The Canadian Anthem is the best lol! Thanks!) and calipalace (Ah, it's always a pleasure to hear from you Courtney! Isha totally made that up by the way. Aw...thank you! If you were my publisher I would hug you! Thanks!)

As for last chapters question, Demoria is a representation of Nazi Germany and Romulus is USSR. Congrats to the two people who guessed correctly!

Please review guys! I'm starting to lose my muse and I need some inspiration. Feel free to drop an idea on my anytime, I could really use one at the moment! I love you my devoted reviewers! I would suffer without you!

Love and fluff,

Brontë


	23. Chapter 23

First of all, I'm so sorry for the wait! I've been on a business trip for the past week and I am so jet lagged! But on the bright side, I was seated in FIRST CLASS! They served me hot facecloths for my hands!!! Cool eh?

Anyway, here's the bad news: This isn't half of what I wanted to finish...so consider this a little interlude before I unleash the mother of all diplomatic chapters.

Good news: An awesome reviewer compared Uncharted to Home and I had a little bit of a mental breakdown of joy. I know Uncharted isn't anywhere near the likes of that Still unfinished beauty but just the compliment was enough to get my muse back. As of now, Uncharted is back on track with a VENGEANCE!

Here goes!

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Three**

Spock, who was not entirely articulate in Earth's long history, was quite positive that he was staring at the foot of a gigantic, thirty foot mammoth.

So was everybody else.

The "GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE" that tore from Jim's lips was not lost on anyone's ears as Iogos and Richardson simultaneously jumped at the shuttle's vast control systems, willing them mentally and physically to boot up as hurriedly as possible with all their might. Iogos slammed a meaty fist upon the control shaft and the machine's ionic engines burst to life, sending the shuttle a-shudder with a quake that nearly knocked Jim off his feet. He steadied himself on Naveed, whose peaceful face reflected nothing of what was happening in the real word.

Jim grimaced; _ah, the irony._

Richardson hauled out manual control and snatched the joystick in his gnarled hands, wrenching it upwards with enough force to nearly rip the thing out of its socket. With his face glued to the part of the view screen that wasn't covered in dusty paste, Richardson tugged the stick sharply to the left and then upwards. A half choked holler escaped his upturned lips as he manoeuvred right, then left, then upwards again and Jim held on for dear life as the small shuttle spiralled sideways in an exercise that Jim had only ever attempted in a simulation.

As Richardson completed a violent u-turn around what Jim could only assume was a herd of mammoths due to all the elephant-like shrieking and stomping that could be heard outside, Spock was whipped out of his seat towards the back of the shuttle with a barely audible thump. Jim let go of the seat he had been so desperately holding onto and followed suit, ignoring the outraged shout that came flying through McCoy's snarling lips.

Jim barely had a split second before he ran smack into his crumpled first officer, whose blue clad body was scrambling to get up. Jim successfully knocked him back down again and flat onto his back, staring upwards towards Jim's persuasive smirk.

"Y'alright Spock?" Jim let out in a huff of breath, his hands exploring the ground around them for something to grasp onto. He grabbed onto the engine room hatch and flipped himself onto it, springing to his feet in one graceful bound.

"Yes. I believe so," Spock replied, watching with apprehensive eyes in the way Jim had gotten to his feet. He swallowed roughly and pushed himself upright as well with the same Vulcan grace.

They were shoved up against the back panels as Richardson aimed them at a 90° angle in the air, splattering them against each other like broken eggs. As the g forces smashed into them mercilessly, Jim managed to turn his head towards the front.

Spock's eyes widened.

The dust was peeling off of the view screen rapidly and vision was now possible, even at Spock's position at the back of the shuttle. But despite all of the logical algorithms embed into his brain, he couldn't help but wish that the thing was still covered in dust so he wouldn't have to see what was going to become of them.

Between the oncoming mountain and Richardson's shouts about how the joystick was jammed, Spock wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. He gripped Jim, whose body was half on top of his, much more firmly than he would have usually allowed and gritted his teeth together. He swallowed the innate surge of fear that throbbed through his body and pressed his eyelids tightly together.

He waited.

And waited.

And when he opened his charcoal eyes again, Jim was whooping beside him because Richardson had finally managed to loosen the joystick and they were flying above the landscape with a heaving sigh of relief and awe. Jim flung himself off of Spock and collapsed against a wall, heaving and laughing at the same time.

"How the fuck did we manage that?" Jim gasped, nearly doubling over in hysterical, astonished laughter.

"I do not know," Spock replied, too stunned to force his vocal chords to say anything else.

* * *

The heat was _excruciating_.

It wasn't affecting him like it was affecting the other Terrans, whose bodies were doubled over with heaving, laborious gasps as the temperature altering hypo began to take form in their bodies. Jim was breathing heavily and felt slightly dizzy but was surprisingly doing well considering he was the last to be treated by Dr. McCoy. He stole a glance towards Spock and offered him a small, subtle smile; with a minute nod in return, they started off towards the peak they were expected to climb.

Richardson was the first to recover despite his age and took the lead in front of Jim and Spock with Naveed not that far behind. Iogos joined Richardson at the front and McCoy took the back, his eyes suspiciously drawn. Jim didn't bother to ask why McCoy chose to loom in the behind the rest of them; he knew that the good doctor would want to be the last there and the first to leave.

Spock seemed largely unaffected by the heat but stayed firmly at Jim's side, watching the reckless captain cautiously out of the corner of his eye. When Jim would stumble as they made their way up the perilous trail, Spock would reach out to grasp his wrist the moment he sensed panic in Jim's mind and wrench him upwards. Jim would steady himself and thank the Vulcan wordlessly, carrying on.

As they trekked further up the dusty, precarious crag, they came across their first real obstacle. The shift of rock was at least twelve feet in height; it was twice the size of Richardson and the elder captain eyed the sleek rock face with a tiresome expression.

"Fantastic."

Iogos, who's strapping body remained mostly unscathed and unaffected by the asphyxiating heat, was the first to hoist himself up and over the shift. His meaty, olive toned arms bulged and shuddered as he pulled himself over the smooth ledge; his running leap up the rock nearly cleared the jutting twelve foot cliff. Grinning victoriously, the bald Orion peaked his face over the ledge and extended one of his brawny hands towards his fellow officers.

"Need a lift?"

Richardson threw his security officer a wistful half smirk and reached upwards to clasp the Orion's meaty wrist; the older captain leapt off of the sandy grounds and Iogos used the extra leverage to yank the human high enough to clear the cliff. Richardson grasped the ledge as he was about to make painful contact with it and scrabbled over it himself, offering the Orion a quiet huff of gratitude before spinning around and looking down at the rest of them.

"Who's next?"

Naveed promptly skittered over to the foot of the ledge and raised both of his hands to his shipmates above him. Richardson and Iogos pulled the slender Arabic man upwards with relative ease; though much taller than Richardson and Iogos, the first officer's diminutive weight proved to be relatively easy on both their strengths combined. They hauled Bones up next, whose incessant grumblings about weather, StarFleet and extinct Earth mammals were graciously silenced for a precious moment as the doctor fought to gain some leverage.

Spock and Jim were the only ones left.

Jim eyed the Vulcan and communicated with him both noiselessly and seamlessly, the both of them agreeing on a plan within seconds of their minds coming up with it. With a slight nod, Spock took off first towards the crag and Jim followed a split second later, taking up a brisk sprint as he neared the rocky base. Within a blink of an eye, Spock laced his lithe fingers together; Jim planted one of his feet upon Spock's knotted fingers and the Vulcan used both his and Jim's momentum to launch his captain upwards, sending the young human careening over the edge. Jim landed almost soundlessly, steadying himself in a catlike crouch, before leaning over the edge and pulling Spock up and over with one hand. Once they were both safely over the obstacle, the two unlikely colleagues brushed themselves off casually and broke off into quick conversation.

The remaining four officers stared at the two of them in various states of utter bewilderment and mild amusement but didn't say anything. Richardson closed his dropped jaw and dragged his wide eyes away, turning around and continuing on their journey.

Maybe they _were_ married.

The older captain snorted and shook his head, "Nah."

* * *

Yeah...that was a total rip off of banthas...so shoot me!

Thank you to : YourDarkMistress. (thank you so much! Yay standing ovations!), bookworm-4-ever2012 (My internet is slow too....I'm too poor for high speed! Thanks!), K2 on Alcatraz (Feel free to jack it! It's only fair! And I fully approve of oogaboogaing anyone really! Thanks!), Veglma (I assure that you will be facepalming a lot more at Naveed. Now that Jim's got all the grace of a Vulcan, I need to make somebody a clumsy dumb magnet! Thanks!), Sharingan-Fer-Sure (Yay! I'm happy you're so hooked! And I hope you enjoy how the rest of this shenanigan plays out as well!), MirrorFlower and DarkWind (Duct tape is the only thing holding my home together; it had to get a nod in this monstrosity somewhere! Thanks!), SeverusPotterSnape (I totally modeled that scene after the fight scene in the movie. I'll check it out the next time I get a chance! Thanks!), Spirk, Ethien, lyricolouratura (I have a bad feeling that this won't be the last time you get Bad Premonitions! Thank you always!) and calipalace (Wouldn't a blond Spock be hilarious?! Hah! Thank you so much for the compliment too. As I said before, I nearly died of love. You are the best!! 33!!)

And a special thanks to anon Aya Shiroi for her very enlightening review. If you're reading this Aya, please elaborate on the point you made because I understand and everything but I'd like to just kind of clarify. I can sympathize on annoying it can be when female characters become caricatures. I would just like to know which of my females are verging on this so that I can fix it.

The universe is a strange place; in the galaxy that I live in, reviews make writers write faster! So do it! :)

Love and fluff,

Brontë


	24. Chapter 24

turning point

_n._

**1. **The point at which a very significant change occurs; a decisive moment.

In other words, when the shit hits the fan!

**_Ejiul _is pronounced Ay-yule**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Four**

_Onwards and upwards... onwards and upwards...onwards and upwards..._

Between the ornery, half mad grumblings echoing off of the cliff behind him and the jovial, off tune Bollywood serenade coming to a climactic crescendo in front of him, Jim wasn't sure what to do with himself. He was sure that Spock was quickly becoming tired with the repetitive mantra recurring over and over again in his head like a broken hologram but he didn't know how else to keep a grasp on his withering sanity.

_Put one foot in front of the other and soon you'll be walking out the door!_

Spock threw him a funny look that time; maybe he was going crazy.

The rocky crag was quickly elevating into a full sized rock monstrosity and Jim briefly wondered if they were going to make it up there at all without careening to their deaths. They continued anyway, Richardson and Iogos in front and Bones taking up the rear, all the while finding little passageways here and there. They were closing the gap, slowly but surely, and Jim could already smell the tendrils of roasted meats and boiled vegetables in the wind. He frowned to himself, noticing that no one else had noticed; he glanced over at the Vulcan beside him and sensed that he had smelt it as well but his mind remained clamped over the subject.

Over the course of their travels, Bones had managed to slip twice and tear the skin off his bare knee in the process. His standardized trousers had been rolled up into haphazard cuffs above the knee and Jim didn't blame him; everyone else in their party had done the same. Iogos had stripped off his upper uniform entirely, tying the red livery around his bald head to reflect the sun. Richardson was in his blacks, his trousers rolled up into improvised shorts and Naveed had done the same. Jim had rolled his boots down as much as he could and wrenched the cuffs of his pants as far as they would go, exposing the pale butterscotch skin beneath. Even Spock, whose Vulcan modesty was well known, had rid himself of his blue chemise, tying it meticulously around his waist in a way that one would build a castle of cards.

The party of six was forced to stop at the resounding wails of expletives coming from behind them and the next qualifying officer, who was Spock of course, was forced to deal with the bickering doctor's ugly wounds. Opening the kit McCoy had unceremoniously thrown in a fit of pain, Spock attempted to heal the defacing wound as best as he could; it was proving difficult as the reluctant patient continued to pester and harass the Vulcan on the way he was holding the various instruments. With a nearly concealed sigh, Spock gathered every mental process he could and tuned into Jim's mind, who was still singing "Put One Foot In Front Of the Other."

Spock really rolled his eyes this time and settled on listening to the wind instead.

Seven minutes later, the caravan of humanoids was making their way up the steep precipice once more. McCoy stayed closer to the face of the cliff instead of wandering near the ledge for a view and Naveed continued humming his Bollywood show tune from where he had left off.

Gazing upwards, Jim noticed a green and navy flag flapping away in the wind some distance above them and Jim quietly pointed it out to Spock, whose mind was still clouded to Jim. The Vulcan caught the beacon in his gaze and with a small nod of acknowledgement to Jim, alerted the rest of the party and effectively altered their course up the mountain.

As they began the last stretch of their journey, which turned out to be a tapered passage along a narrow edge that spiralled around the mountain, Jim couldn't help but imagine himself as the legendary Indiana Jones; he was pining for a slick, leather bullwhip and a fedora when the sudden rush of foreign panic slapped him in the face so hard he could barely recover.

"Spock!"

* * *

The beads of sweat that lurched down Kehdrak's reptilian features were not entirely unwelcome; as he dashed frantically down the hallways towards his escape egress, it served as a reminder that he was still alive.

The security alarms were blaring raucously and the young Demorian soldier took this as a good sign as he threw himself at an obstructing door like a battering ram. The flimsy barricade easily gave way as he made his way through the catacombs of the government building like a thief in the night.

_Ironic_, he thought to himself wistfully, the incongruity of the simile trouncing him as he burst through the last of the doors and into the dead of twilight. Without impeding his breakneck speed through the half dead foliage, Kehdrak stole a glance left and right and found that the rest of his team were retreating as well. The raid had been successful; the slaves and his soldiers, for the most part, had all made it out alive.

Leaping into the run down escape vehicle three paces to his left, Kehdrak took off out of Demorialis and into the darkness. He quickly took a tally of the rest of the men in the hovering truck and took stock of his injuries before breaking the hush.

"Status?"

The rest of the soldiers were stunned out of their silence and their heads snapped to the young Demorian; a nurse immediately scrabbled over to him and started treating the gaping gash above his right eye and the soldiers didn't reply until the nurse had finished sopping up the cobalt blood.

"Five casualties. Three slaves didn't make it out alive."

"How many were rescued?"

"Sixty three Demorians, forty seven off worlders."

"Will they make it?"

"Affirmative. Only twelve are permanently disfigured."

"Good work lieutenant."

The continued on in silence, only the drone of the ancient engines cutting through the quiet of the night. Kehdrak allowed the nurse to dress his bandages and watched her do so shrewdly, eyeing the curve of her ashen breasts beneath the tatters of her uniform. His arousal, something he had long thought forgotten, swelled inside of him but he quelled the corrupting urge, choosing rather to stare at a clog in the ceiling instead.

The road back was long and treacherous and Kehdrak used the time to check in with the other escape vehicles. They were progressing slowly but surely up the mountainous ranges of the upper continent and the young Demorian was pleased that all had gone so well. Losing only five operatives was nearly unheard of on a nearly suicidal rescue mission. Biting back a lewd smirk, Kehdrak tried to crush the oncoming onslaught of pride that was running rampant through his indigo veins.

The pale, nearly eclipsed sun began to rise over the rotten foliage and Kehdrak was permitted a brief view of the scenery as they zoomed past. Their home star, swathed in the asphyxiating smog that covered the planet like a thick duvet, threw the barren features of his planet into a piercing contrast; Kehdrak shivered unconsciously and turned his head forward once again, ignoring the ruinous panorama as it rushed past.

Some forty minutes later, the vehicle began to slow down and come to a halt, allowing the soldiers to desert the unsheltered, windswept cabin and make their way to the camps for debriefing. Kehdrak was the first to step out of the rickety vehicle and stopped short at the view that befell him, his slender body frozen and his yellow eyes wide.

The camp.

It was _burning_...

* * *

Spock disappeared over the ledge.

Jim spun around and reached out with his hand, extending outwards to a thing that wasn't there. He threw himself towards the ledge blindly and reached downwards, his eyes clouded momentarily by the churning spike of panic both within him and beyond. He snatched at an ivory blur in his vision and grasped onto it mercilessly, his calloused fingers digging into the flesh underneath.

"Jim."

Spock had managed to slow his descent momentarily by jamming himself into a foot hole and the pain resonating through their bond was enough to make Jim grit his teeth together. It had given Jim just enough time to grasp the plummeting Vulcan before his fatal free fall onto the stiletto shards of rock beneath.

"Jim," he whispered again, gazing intently at the crazed cerulean eyes staring daggers into his own. Spock's panic was still echoing like a blaring siren in his brain and he was panting forcefully, still breathing hard from the burst of intense emotions from a mind not all his own. He shook his head and steadied himself, his ears already picking up on the shuffling feet to his left and right. Richardson and Iogos got down beside him and helped hoist the Vulcan back onto the precarious edge, Jim wrapping his arms beneath Spock's underarms and around his torso so as to not rip his shoulder blades out of their sockets. Once the Vulcan was back onto the crumbling trail, Spock gained enough mental strength to block the surge of emotions flooding from his mind to Jim's, effectively returning the young, panicked captain to normal once again.

"You alright Spock?"

Spock riveted his eyes away from the young human kneeling beside him and gazed up at McCoy, whose eyes seemed slightly wider than usual. Taken aback, the Vulcan tilted his head slightly to the side as if he weren't seeing the image properly.

"I have not been injured seriously doctor," he replied, mentally taking stock of his injuries. He would have a few bruises dotting the left side of this torso but he wasn't wounded otherwise. He unfolded his tangled limbs and rose to his feet, the stiffness in his side working itself out painfully.

"Err...good," the doctor responded hastily, turning his back as quickly as he could to the Vulcan and hobbling towards Naveed's position a few paces in front of him. Spock shook off the strange encounter and glanced downwards at Jim, who was still brushing the sand off of his rolled up trousers and bare legs. They met eyes and the young captain rushed to his feet, his mixed emotions of grief and relief mottled only by the block of emotion Spock had set against the bond between them.

They continued on without another word, Spock taking greater care to stay closer to the cliff face and away from the ledge that would have been his death if it weren't for Jim. His stomach clenched self consciously as he sensed the confusion wheedling through their link, and wished he could give himself entirely to him.

But in all honesty, the Vulcan was scared.

Not in the human way of course; he just didn't want to fall into the same mental homicidal rampage he had slipped into before. Jim, along with the impromptu brain switch, seemed to have roused impulses within him that he couldn't even fathom. The jealously, the dreams, even the physical changes like the constant fidgeting and the facial hair were stirring up a flurry of emotions he wished he didn't have.

Jim, who was altogether put off by the sudden mental estrangement, decided to put his own resentful spin on things. The embittered captain started in haste towards Naveed and slowed to a normal stride a few paces behind him, leaving the Vulcan behind and alone in the churning dust. Swallowing whatever emotions were stirring up inside of him, he decided to concentrate his efforts on what he would be confronted with at the summit and how he would react.

He could hear the flapping beacon somewhere above them and looked over expectantly at Naveed for an exclamation that they were close. He was about to say something when his breath stopped short in his throat, his voice catching painfully at the discovery he was about to make.

No one else can _hear_ it.

If his body hadn't been so distracted by the death-defying passageway it was trying to navigate, it would have stopped dead on the trail; he had been wondering briefly on why he could hear things and smell things that his human counterparts could not. The realization he made at that moment hit his harder than he would have liked but the universe hadn't quite been listening to his preferences as of late anyway.

How much more of a Vulcan was he going to become?

A million and one scenarios began to pop up fully formed in his mind; _human beings adapt easily to most environments right? What if my body is adapting to the Vulcan DNA and creating more of it? What if it's affecting my mind in a way that isn't reversible? What if I'm stuck like this _forever_?_

There was a time in Jim's life where the term forever meant happily ever afters and promises of toy trucks and sandbox adventures. Mind you, he had been four years old at the time but still; forever was a word that promised only good things, like lazy Sundays and everlasting birthday cake.

The word only became more convoluted as he grew older it seemed. Proclamations of undying love and wardens spouting warnings about "spending the rest of forever with your ass in jail" only made it worse.

Never did he think it would mean this.

Forever with a Vulcan. Forever like a Vulcan.

He tried to quell the feelings of panic rising up within him as they made their way further up the mountain but Jim's stubborn conscious refused to give way. The entire Federation was resting on his shoulders again and all he could damn well think about was himself?

Jim kicked at a rock and glanced conspicuously behind him.

Yup, _he_ was watching.

Jim would have shoved his hands into his pockets if it hadn't been so hot so he settled with dropping them to his sides instead, clenching and unclenching his fists in an attempt to relax himself. The mental block was irritating; _why are you doing this?_

_I must._

_Why?_

_I'm sorry._

And that was that.

* * *

"This is Lieutenant Gomez on behalf of Captain Peters on the USS Regime! Enterprise come in! Enterprise come in!"

* * *

"I see you have made it here relatively unscathed. I must admit, the road to our current destination was particularly arduous."

The Romulan who now stood before them motioned them closer with a subtle flick of his hands. The party, although tired and hungry, hesitantly complied, "As a symbol of good will, we have provided sustenance suitable for humans and," the Romulan's black eyes grazed over Jim before settling on Spock, "and Vulcan appetites."

"Thank you, your honour," Jim replied politely, his stomach growling with gratitude. He glanced sidelong at Spock, warily testing out the waters in his still clouded mind and exchanged a glance with him. The Vulcan's eyes were unusually dilated, as if his mind was independent of his body and was busy doing something else entirely.

"If you would please join us," the Romulan announced, waking Jim from his brooding reverie, "The Council is waiting."

* * *

"USS Regime! This is the Enterprise! What is your current position?"

"Earth, and it isn't good."

* * *

"Welcome Captain Kirk, Captain Richardson. Our endeavours of peace have long been overdue."

The table of polished stone was gleaming in the sunlight that was filtering through the shards of rock above them. They were sheltered from the elements more or less up there and the temperature was surprisingly lower than it had been on ground level. Bones was the last one to make it to the large table, his eyes shifting suspiciously beneath his bushy brows.

Jim was sitting calmly, or as calmly as he could in his current situation, with Richardson on one side and Spock on the other. The table was elliptical in shape and there were two empty spaces at each of its ends, signifying the reluctance of both races to dwell any closer to each other.

The most important member of the Romulan Council, the _Proconsul,_ was seated in the middle of the procession on the opposite end and surrounded by four other individuals, including the Romulan who had initially greeted them at the top of the mountain. They were all dressed similarly, their pale, slender bodies draped meticulously in prestigious robes of deep blues and greens. Their own uniforms, tattered and covered in dust, paled in comparison.

Three Romulan servants skittered nervously around the table, their hands carrying dishes of roasted meats and vegetables. Jim attempted to rebuff the irrefutable urge to vomit as a plate of smoked meat was placed in front of him but his stomach refused to comply as he eyed the rare flesh on his plate, its juices pooling onto the makeshift meal beneath it. Jim licked his chapped lips and nearly gagged when the potent taste of cooked fat hit his taste buds, sending his sensories into a contradictory frenzy.

He looked over at Spock, whose mind still seemed to be elsewhere, and he tried once again to search for an answer to his silence through their link. He reached out through the tendrils of his conscious and was reflected backwards roughly, as if hitting a painful rubber wall. Frowning, and feeling slightly hurt, he fiddled with the unappetizing meat before him until the plate was to be taken away.

"Captain," Jim was roused with a start, and having seen that the _Proconsul_ was staring at him, he offered his full attention, "You have not touched your sustenance. Do you not trust us?"

They were fishing and he knew it; Jim perked up immediately and put on a diplomatic smile, "On the contrary your honour, I am a vegetarian and am therefore unable to partake in the consumption of flesh."

The _Proconsul_ tipped his head slightly, eyeing the young captain curiously in his gaze. Jim refused to fidget but he was barely holding on, the ferocity of the Romulan's stare nearly melting holes into his forehead.

"This is strange," the _Proconsul_ replied, "I assumed that all humans indulged in the delicacies of flesh. It seems I was mistaken," The Romulan nodded his head marginally and a servant quickly took Jim's plate away, lifting it up and out of his visibility. Jim heaved a nearly inaudible sigh of relief and offered a polite smile.

"Thank you, your honour. As you will see, our race is often full of surprises."

The Romulan smirked, raising a devilish eyebrow full of mirth, "I have noticed."

* * *

His breath caught in his throat; the vile, putrid smoke tore apart the tissue of his oesophagus and his eyes watered mercilessly as the smell of burnt flesh assaulted him. Kehdrak stumbled, landing on his hands and knees, and crawled back into the vehicle, coughing out orders at the pilot to retreat. Smoke was still pouring out of his cracked lips as he hobbled to the cockpit of the vehicle and directed the pilot haphazardly to the Refuge.

Struggling back to the compartments, the young Demorian collapsed sometime later into unconsciousness, his lungs too damaged to keep his awake for any longer. The nurse did what she could to help him but filtered nitrogen and oxygen gasses were scarce on such a polluted planet and she didn't know what else to do. Two soldiers dragged his limp body to the side of the compartment and let him sleep it off, riding in silence as they made their way through the Prekakhrah Peaks.

Kehdrak woke an hour or so later, his lungs and throat still burning like a wildfire within him. He groaned weakly and rolled over, wrenching himself off of his stomach and onto his side. He barked at the pilot, asking for their current location and he replied that they were close.

The Refuge was a series of subterranean caves deep within one of the Prekakhrah mountain walls. Before the Conquest, the caverns had served as precious metal mines but they were abandoned once the talons of the new government grasped the economy and the infrastructure. The initial rebellions against the Conquest had taken refuge in those very caves, making it a sort of monument to those that followed and a sort of backup plan if ever the camps were attacked. The roads to the mouth of the Refuge were long and arduous and Kehdrak could only hope that the thousands of other officers and refugees had made it there before the raids began.

As the vehicle slowed to a stop before the illuminated entrance, Kehdrak jumped off of the platform before it had finished its shut down procedures. Despite his protesting lungs, the young Demorian sprinted over to the officers awaiting them; he recognized the first one, a young tactical officer named Jejkah, and loped to his side.

Kehdrak didn't stop to take a breath, "How many?"

"Thirty percent we're guessing. Most of the casualties were in artillery and in the infirmary. The nurses managed to get some of them out alive but there weren't enough of them."

The young Demorian gritted his teeth; his was so _sick_ of death, "Were you able to salvage any equipment?"

"Yes. Scouts saw the raid coming two hours before impact and we were able to evacuate most of the hospital and tactical paraphernalia in time. But as I said before, artillery was heavily damaged and a lot of our arms didn't make it out of there."

"Damnit," Kehdrak coughed deeply, his ribs vibrating painfully in his slender chest, "How are we doing for space?"

"The infirmary has taken the upper caverns to be closer to the fresh air. Artillery, or what's left of it, has claimed the lower bunkers as well as storage and the rest of us are doing what we can with the rest of the space. Tactics is deep within the inner chambers; I can take you there."

They stalked the busy caverns silently, Kehdrak's eyes drifting left and right as he surveyed the scene calculatingly. Many of the refugees looked up at him as he passed, eyeing him with a sense of wonderment in their faces that he wasn't used to seeing. Their stares caught him off balance for a moment and he swallowed thickly, wondering vaguely as to what he had done.

"Soldier!" the General's voice croaked out of the din, "Report!"

Kehdrak paused in his stride and scanned the panorama silently, finally picking the General's stocky silhouette out of the crowd, "The mission was successful. Five casualties, all artillery during the secondary assault. Only a few prisoners were D.O.A."

"Well done," the General stepped out of the dim light and clapped Kehdrak on the shoulder, the skin on skin impact echoing throughout the cave, "I can't say we achieved the same success rate here."

"Has the beacon been answered yet?" Kehdrak tried to contain his earnest; he had, as well as the others, been anxiously awaiting the news for days.

The General grinned, "I have something even better," motioning with his mottled hand, the old Demorian soldier hobbled deeper into the cavern and veered into a smaller room within. The rocky walls were slightly damp and looked shiny in the bluish light that was coming from the computer screen that took up the majority of the center of the room. The General beckoned him closer and flashed his yellowed teeth at Kehdrak smilingly, "We received another broadcast with a special message attached."

The General pressed a button attached to the computer's keyboard and suddenly a female voice, speaking Standard, boomed from the speakers.

"_And to my special friends listening out there, you'll hear from us in twenty four hours."

* * *

_

"So, let's start this thing, shall we?"

Roused from the sound of his voice, the _Proconsul_ raised his head and straightened in his chair regally, his black eyes fastening Jim to his seat.

"Very well."

The three servants obligingly rushed the table and cleared it of the empty dishes and platters littering the glossy table. The only thing that they didn't clear were the ornamented goblets filled with deep cherry wine, still left untouched by those of the Federation present at the table. The Romulans sipped the crimson liquid casually, obviously unaffected by its consequences.

"I am Ejiul, head of the Romulan Council and Empire. This is Councillor Dakin," he motioned to his left, "And Councillor Terrh'vnau," he motioned to his right, "The other member of the Council present is Hiren, the Empire's military commander. Maelrok, the Romulan who greeted you, will serve as our witness to the proceedings that will take place here today."

"I am already intimately aware of the names and positions of your faction," Ejiul continued, "Captain Kirk, I am immeasurably pleased that you have graced us with this honour," Ejiul eyes grazed over the form of Jim's first officer, sizing him up and down, "Such an...odd pairing."

The Romulan waited but Spock formed no audible reply; he stared back at Ejiul and into his endless eyes, showing no mercy beneath the stifling heat of his gaze.

Ejiul grinned charmingly, "There is no need to shield your thoughts from us S'chn T'gai Spock" '_or his'_, he added wordlessly and Jim felt Spock bristle beside him at those words. Sensing the mental onslaught about to take place within their minds, Jim drew the attention of the _Proconsul_ away from the Vulcan and back to himself once again.

"We have terrorists to demolish gentlemen. Shall we stop playing mind games and get on with it?" It was Jim's turn to straighten in his chair and pierce a hole into Ejiul eyes with his steely gaze, "Your ops missionary Isha Suran enlightened us to the trading conditions as stated in her earlier discussions with your Council. Are you still willing to follow through with you intentions?"

"We would never consider a deception Captain Kirk," Ejiul's eyes twinkled in a way that Jim didn't particularly like, "And is the Federation still willing to fulfill their side of the bargain?"

Two can play at this game, "Of course your honour. Preparations have already been made," the Cheshire grin on Jim's face forced the Romulan's lips to collapse into a thin, harsh line; it wasn't the response he was looking for, "Once we are both aboard our respective vessels, you can beam aboard the Enterprise and we will make our trade there."

The incline of incredulity in his voice was obvious, "Aboard your vessel Captain?"

"My friend, as you have very well predicted, we are far outnumbered by your vast war vessels. Our weaponry, yes, could doubtlessly annihilate many of your ships but we would still be grossly outnumbered without the rest of our fleet. It would be a symbolic moment, a step in the right direction no doubt, and I would be honoured to have you and your Council aboard the Federation vessel Enterprise."

Ejiul narrowed his eyes at Jim and the young captain gazed back unyieldingly, locking in a marathon death stare for a matter of minutes. Time crept by and the only sound to break the silence was the howl of the desert wind in anticipation of finally coming to a stalemate, "The Council would be willing to adhere to your request."

"Thank you Ejiul," Jim grinned again, successfully unnerving the head Romulan even more, "I'm sure you'll feel right at home."

Ejiul deadpanned, "I have no doubt."

* * *

Nyota Uhura's heart was pounding in her chest; her breath caught in her throat as she pressed the hearing device to her ear, "Not good? USS Regime, what happened?"

There was a little bit of static at the other end of the connection but it resolved itself soon enough. The entire bridge was as silent as death, listening both intently and fearfully for what would be said from Nyota's lips next.

"We were hit badly. Communication, technology, everything is down. StarBase One is all but destroyed and the Renard actually had to send a shuttle down to San Francisco just to make contact. They've had to resort to radio and microwave technology to broadcast messages and frequencies."

Nyota let out a breath of relief, "So Earth hasn't been harmed?"

The communications officer on the other line hesitated, "StarBase One managed to stop three of the biobombs right before planetary impact. They detonated just above eastern Asia."

"And?"

"Casualties were widespread, mostly in areas ranging from Shanghai to Vietnam. Everyone we can spare is over there trying to help but it isn't good."

The lump in Nyota's throat hardened; there were at least a hundred officers on this ship with relatives in eastern Asia, let alone the whole fleet, "What about the other planets? Are they still...intact?"

"They're here actually, trying to help us."

"What?"

"I know, it's about time someone came to help us for once. But all joking aside, Andoria heard StarFleet's SOS and called the Tellarians on to help as well. They came here within hours, according to StarFleet, and started to help rebuild the satellite and transmission systems on StarBase One."

"So what took you so long to respond to us?" Nyota couldn't help but be rude; she was nearly panicking, "We've been hailing you for days!"

"We just managed to rebuild the satellite and send moderate length transmissions now. Crews, both human and alien, have been working triple shifts in an attempt to get communications back up again. The commanders of the Federation are begging us to return and help them lick their wounds; Captain Ryan told them to fuck off."

Nyota nearly burst out laughing, "What?"

"We all thought the same thing. They're pretty much barring the doors to their homes with all the fall out they've been getting. The Admirals have taken up their positions as head of the Federation and are doing their best to try and sift the situation back to normal. They're doing a damn good job, considering what has been blown to all and sundry."

"So what's going to happen?" Nyota asked, biting her lip, "Is the Renard and the Regime staying?"

"The Admirals already gave the go ahead. We've beamed up as much spare equipment as we can and we're heading to StarBase Six and Seven's new location in the Trans-Cassiopian Nebula within the next forty eight hours. If the crews continue working at this rate, deep space communications will be established within the week."

"Thank goodness," Nyota breathed another sigh and she could feel the eyes of the bridge crew drilling holes into her back. She tensed but refused to turn around and face them, "Stay in touch. Kirk and Richardson are meeting with the Romulans now. If all goes well, we'll be out of here soon."

"I'll let Peters know. He's planetside with Archer and Pike right now. They nearly had coronaries when they heard what Kirk did, not that they're condoning him or anything. If anything, they're still in disbelief at the courage Kirk managed to drum up within everyone."

"So are we," Nyota sighed and shifted in her chair, her mind still running a mile a minute, "We'll see you soon."

She could practically hear the communication officer's smile on the other side, "Good luck."

The connection was cut and Nyota turned around, facing the bridge crew before her with a muted expression. She snapped open her mouth just as Sulu began to speak and she cut him off entirely, "Lieutenant Sulu, Ensign Asada, Ensign Chan, Ensign Kim, please follow me."

They did.

* * *

Negotiations continued invariably smoothly; each party agreed to nearly all of the terms brought into action by each of the opposing participants. Yet despite this, Jim couldn't help but feel like he was being analyzed like an ancient Picasso canvas just discovered in the depths.

His head was buzzing, albeit faintly, with the mental assault Spock was undergoing and he could easily sense the exhaustion the Vulcan's mind was feeling. They were concentrating on the hybrid now, pounding him with a slew of questions and wordless attacks in order to break his front.

Jim twitched irately; he was beginning to crack.

Doing his absolute best to cloud his mind entirely, Jim reached across and beneath the polished table and grasped the stubborn Vulcan's groin; the mental lock broke immediately, and Jim felt as if he had just jumped into the Pacific without any clothes. Spock's mental cloud subsided momentarily, giving Jim just enough time to broadcast the message he desperately wanted answered.

_WHAT DO YOU WANT._

Almost simultaneously, the members of the Council snapped towards him, their eyes widening in blatant surprise. Buzzing in the back of his head, Jim could almost hear their bewilderment as they felt the brunt of his psi-rating clatter noisily in their skulls.

Spock, whose face was still flushed a bright olive green, was scrabbling to gather his scattered concentration. He managed to shelter his own mind within seconds, although feebly, but was nearly thrown backwards when he tried to project his shield onto Jim.

Jim kept his mind clouded as well as he could and was surprised by the ease in which he was able to maintain it. He felt the Council's relentless psyche drilling at the frontiers of his mind and smiled as he denied all of them entry.

"Perhaps," Ejiul began, the unnerved expressions on the Romulan's face only boosting Jim's confidence, "you were correct when you said that humans are indeed full of surprises," Ejiul planted his palms on the table before him and pressed down, a smile of his own creeping onto his visage, "But how long can you maintain it?"

The rest of the humans present tried to quell their overwhelming confusion as Jim locked eyes with the _Proconsul, _his jaw tightly clenched and his knuckles painfully white. Spock swallowed his panic and tried to shut it down, sensing exactly what was happening between Ejiul and his lover. He gripped his chair mercilessly and felt a piece of it crumble into his hands, now knowing helplessly that there was nothing he could do.

Councillor Dakin was part Bajorian; he would see everything and their plot would be ruined.

Jim sensed Spock's thoughts immediately and doubled the barriers in between the Councillor's efforts and himself. Dakin's psychic capabilities were far more advanced then Ejiul's, as Jim was quickly learning, and the beads of sweat that were forming on his brow was only proof that Jim wouldn't be able to hold on for much longer. The clouds that had sheltered his mind were beginning to dissipate and as Councillor Dakin's mind began to slip between the cracks into his consciousness, Jim did the first thing he thought of to get them out.

Dakin physically shot backwards in his chair, his eyes watering at the sunlight that nearly burnt the retinas out of his sockets. Ejiul backed down next and stared wildly at Spock; the Vulcan's presence had been quite obvious in the human's mind and he wasn't quite sure what to make of it during the quick second that he had gotten a taste of it.

"What are you?" Dakin blurted, his first raspy words in the hours that he had been there, grated disturbingly over the din. Jim stayed standing, his eyes boring down on the Bajorian-Romulan hybrid with a tired smirk in his glare.

"Space does strange things to people," he replied simply, motioning with his hands for the rest of his party to rise. Jim could still sense their astonishment buzzing in his mind and decided to make his leave before they changed their mind, "Betelgeuse XI, two weeks from today. Staying true to our word, we shall convene and assemble our forces there. I will personally call upon you or a representative to board upon my vessel and make the trade once both parties have returned to their respective ships. Until then Council," Jim slipped from the table and pushed his chair in, waiting respectfully as the rest of his men did the same, "Thank you for your hospitality."

* * *

I wouldn't be too impressed if a human mind-fucked me either. :P

Thanks to: Lyricolouratura (Don't worry! I've already got then end all planned out; there's no way I'm leaving this thing with all that I still have yet to do with the plot! I might be partially obsessed with plot twists...heehee! Thank you once again, I always eagerly look forward to your reviews!), Sharingan-Fer-Sure (Thanks! I hoped you liked this one too!), bookworm-4-ever2012 (Yeuuuh BAMF's! I hope they maintained their badness throughout this chapter (or rather Js; there wasn't a lot of S in this one) And thank you once again and I hope this once again brightens your weekend!), MirrorFlower and DarkWind (Thank you always!), SeverusPotterSnape (I made up for the length in this one. And I promise, absolutely, that you will be immensely pleased in this last arc with your romance lust! Thanks!), calipalace x2 (Ahhh your words make me melty! I hope you were satisfied with the crazy Romulans, I didn't make these ones too nutzo but we'll see more of my favourite wackjobs in the near future *cough K'Tol* Thanks!) and YourDarkMistress. (Thank you!! I'm glad he makes you laugh and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well. 3)

So the second arc of this story is over, but the third one is now in full force! I better see some more reviews from you people! This chapter was a freakin' monster!

Love and fluff,

Brontë


	25. Chapter 25

Hey guys! I don't have time for huge thank yous today but I will say: Yes K2, I have heard the soundtrack (in fact I own it) and it's positively amazing! And Courtney, I love you and the amazing reviews you offer me. I don't deserve you!

A special thanks to my darling Lyricoloratura, who is not only an amazing writer but is also the only reason I managed to make it through this chapter. I recieved two horrible reviews by a crazy, possibly psychotic woman who tore me a new one on how horrible my plot was and then proceeded to tell me that she had no problem with my plot but she still hated me (nuts eh?) so I was basically in a hole. Lyri pulled me out of this hole. You should all thank her for this chapter and read her amazing stories! She deserves it!

Also, if you get a chance, I finally managed to get a sketch of Kehdrak down on paper. If you're interested (which you know you are), I suggest you click on my profile (after you review of course) and click on the link there. I'm super proud of him and I would love it if you left me a comment on deviantart!

I love you all, please review some more because it's the only thing that keeps me going, and I hope to get a new chapter out soon. I know you'll LOVE the end. But not in the way you're thinking...

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Five**

"Well slap my ass and call me Mary, Jim what the fuck was that?"

As Jim and the rest of the away team made their way further down the mountain and out of earshot, Jim had developed a sneaking suspicion that McCoy's features weren't reddening because of the heat.

"Look Bones-"

"Now don't you pull that Bones shit with me! I've already lost twenty years of my damn life just for being pulled into this! You and your hobgoblin's fuckin' mind voodoo," Bones bristled and stomped closer to the young captain, pointing a finger accusingly in his face, "And what the fuck was that huh?" he jabbed him in the forehead aggressively, his lips leering, "Mind fucking Romulans too now are we?" he turned to Spock and sneered at him, "Jealous hobgoblin? Yer boyfriend here is brain fucking the same people that, I don't know, maybe destroyed your whole civilization? And then tried to blow up mine?" McCoy threw his arms up into the air hysterically, his eyes widened almost comically, "What fuckin' universe was I born in?!"

"Calm down Bo-"

"Don't tell me to calm down Jimbo and don't you dare start blamin' somebody else for the shit that you manage to pull off, you damn idiot! What in God's name did you two do to each other's fuckin' heads?!" his eyes darted back and forth between Spock and Jim, each of them wearing matching expressions on their somnolent features, "Did I miss the memo or somethin' here? Since when did Vulcans become spatial telepaths?"

"Both Vulcans and Romulan are capable of perceiving spatial projections. If they are strong enough, we are able to potentially sense their emotions, but not their thoughts," Spock replied quickly, eyeing Jim warily from the corner of his vision. He swallowed and pushed harder on their link, only to be denied; once again, Jim's unpredictability was proving to be contradicting every prediction he had hypothesized.

"So what yer sayin'," Bones began, his anger waning slightly, "is that those war mongers could sense everythin' we were thinkin?!"

"Negative, doctor. Only the captain and myself were targeted as our psi ratings far surpass yours or the other members of this party-"

"Are you sayin' I ain't smart?!" McCoy rumbled menacingly, his irate voice echoing off of the mountain walls like an act of God. Jim rubbed at the stubble peppering his cheeks as pebbles rained down on top of them and he wearily dropped his chin to his chest, groaning silently at their incessant bickering.

"Alright," Richardson's voice cut through the backbiting din, "Will somebody please explain to me what is going on?"

Jim could feel Richardson's eyes boring holes into the top of his skull and reluctantly turned his head towards him, "Remember when I told you that it was a long story?"

Richardson didn't look convinced, "Well, seeing as how this is now affecting the entire Federation, or what's left of it, I have all the time in the world."

Jim shot a glace towards Spock first, whose impassive face was uncharacteristically twisted, and at McCoy, who was still simmering furiously like a pot of stew. Knowing that he wasn't going to get an ounce of help from either of them while they were still at ends with each other, Jim sighed and grappled himself together, hoping that some good would come from what he would say next.

"Look," Jim leapt on top of a protruding rock and let his arms fall dejectedly at his sides, deliberately avoiding McCoy's gaze, "Spock and I had an incident and, to make a long story short, I've developed Vulcan traits," he made a point of this, snapping a piece of rock off the stone he was standing on like a piece of peanut brittle, "The Romulans could sense my thoughts as well, and vise versa. How this happened, well, use your imagination. Transporter malfunction, omnipotent space being, this shit can't just happen to us," he sighed and flexed his fingers, obviously distraught, "But how I got to be this way is not important. What is important is that while I was facing off with the Council, Spock was able to sense what they were planning."

Richardson looked perplexed but pushed his confusion aside, his curiosity getting the best of him, "Are they going to break the treaty?"

Spock strode over and stood beside the boulder his captain was standing on, briefly sharing a glimpse with him before replying, "They are developing a deception similar to our own. They plan to use transporter technologies to recover the cloaking devices they plan to trade with us should any of our ships survive after the encounter with the Demorians," a shadow crossed the Vulcan's features and Jim bristled unconsciously, sensing the notion of dread pass through him as well, "They don't expect any of our remaining ships to escape unscathed."

Richardson frowned, his lips forming a thin, severe line, "Are they planning on attacking us?"

"They are not prepared to. They expect the Demorians to exterminate us themselves."

"What they don't know is that we already have the technology duplicated. Unless they detect the replication, which my Chief Engineer assures me they won't, we'll still be able to make it out of there cloaked should they try to attack," Jim added, finally glancing over at McCoy. The belligerent doctor scowled at the young captain but offered no words otherwise.

"Do you know for sure though? What if the Romulans were able to read your minds without you knowing?" Richardson asked, a great deal of doubt sinking into his scoured voice as he asked the question.

Spock offered what could be only translated as the Vulcan version of a smug twitch of the lips, "The captain's psychic abilities are abnormally strong for a human. He was able to keep them hovering at the brink of his consciousness, drawing their attention long enough for me to penetrate their emotions. They were, thankfully, unable to sense anything from either of our thoughts."

There was a lull in the conversation as Richardson glanced between the two of them, his confusion finally appearing on his aged, weathered features, "Did you two plan this?"

"No."

Spock and Jim glanced at each other, their synchronized voices echoing off of the rock face in a harmonious interval of tenor and baritone. They both opened their mouths at the same time to speak again and paused unhurriedly when they noticed what they had done; Jim relinquished with a smirk and allowed Spock to say what he wanted to say first, accepting defeat with open arms.

"I was initially unaware of the captain's spatial abilities until he engaged them. I intended to use my own aptitude to shield him but," he paused, looking upwards at the young captain wryly, "It seems they were not needed."

No one spoke for a moment, each person digesting internally what had just come to pass. As the minutes ticked by, Iogos paused to look over his shoulder and gazed languidly at the setting sun, mentally calculating how long it would take them to get back to the shuttle and hopefully to their ship.

"Now I'm not going to pretend that I know anything about what's going on and as curious as I am, I'm a little more concerned about freezing to death if the sun goes down on an unknown planet," Iogos revealed, motioning towards the location of their shuttle with his head.

Jim frowned, "We've got about an hour if the day's been anything to go by."

"By my calculations, we are approximately ninety minutes from the shuttle. We should set off at once," Spock replied, stepping forward.

"Agreed," Richardson barked, eyeing Jim warily as he leapt off of the boulder and landed fluidly next to Spock. They exchanged a few muted words and then set off down the precarious passageways of the mountain, the rest of them not far behind.

* * *

"Any sign o' them laddie?"

Sulu spun around in his seat towards the Scottish engineer, watching him through swimming eyes as he stepped onto the bridge. The young lieutenant swallowed his sickening nausea and tried to ignore his throbbing headache as best he could, turning back around again.

It hadn't gone unnoticed, of course.

"Ze Romulan's hawe maintained dere current position sir. Noting else to report," Chekov replied pointedly before Sulu could even open his fumbling mouth. The young navigator glanced sidelong at the helmsman on duty and frowned with a mixture of frustration and grief as he watched Sulu suffer at his station.

They had been on duty for hours now and after the message Nyota had relayed on the fate of Earth, Pavel had noticed that Sulu's concentration had only gotten worse. It had spread around quickly enough that a portion of Eastern Asia had been hit badly but Pavel knew well enough that all of Hikaru's family lived in California so he wasn't sure what was wrong. The helmsman had dozed off twice and Pavel had no choice but to keep sending him alerts just so that he would jolt awake without making a show of himself. It would startle him from his stupor and he would offer the Russian a thankful smile but he continued to refuse Pavel's urgings to go to sickbay no matter how much he prodded him.

"Let's hope thay come up soon aye? I cannae leave her ahlone muckle longah," he stole a glimpse of the entire bridge and planted his hands on his hips with a wee smile, "Weel, if yeh won't be needin' meh anymoore I'll just be-"

"Sir! Incoming transmissions from shuttle craft three!"

Scotty heaved a sigh; he just wasn't made for this captaincy business, "On screen," he announced, prompting Nyota to transfer the message onto the main viewer. Spock and Richardson appeared larger than life on the grand display, just to the right of Iogos as he piloted their way out of the turbulent atmosphere.

"Prepare the shuttle bay for our disembarkment and have a representative from sickbay present," Spock ordered in his trademark monotone, his eyes scanning the bridge like an electric current.

"Let me guess," Nyota crooned, rolling her eyes, "Jim again?"

"Negative lieutenant," Spock replied, locking his line of vision on her, "Doctor McCoy has attained multiple injuries during his stay on the planet."

"Is he okay?" Nyota exclaimed before she could stop herself, stepping out of her chair in a blur.

"I'm fine thanks," an ornery voice croaked from behind Richardson, followed seconds later by Jim's vivid laugh, "No thanks to Captain Asshole over here."

Nyota rolled her eyes and sighed in relief; after all this was over she would take the time out to slap Jim across the face if she had to.

"Naw prooblem Commander. I'll make the orders."

Spock nodded pointedly, eyeing Scotty for the last time, "Spock out."

The screen faded back into the speckled landscape of never ending stars, its scenery marred only by the mass of Romulan warships hovering opposite of them. The bridge crew returned to their normal duties and Chekov took the moment to glance over at Sulu, whose sleeping face looked far from peaceful. The navigator swallowed the uncomfortable lump forming in the back of his throat and forced himself to his feet, closing the gap between the obviously sick helmsman and himself, "Permission to leawe ze bridge momentarily sir?"

Scotty, who had been attempting to make a hasty retreat from the bridge, turned around to face the ensign apprehensively, "Err...yeh, o' course."

"Thank you sir," Pavel muttered before turning around and hooking his arm beneath Sulu's, yanking him from his seat at the helm. He hauled him upright and kept him steady against his side, "You are going to sickbay. Now."

Sulu groaned and attempted to grasp his seat with his free arm, missing it by a few inches. Chekov pulled the older officer harder and sighed, his hopes of making it off of the bridge without causing a scene completely ruined, "Shut up Hikaru. You're in no position to argue."

"Err..." was all Sulu managed to mutter before Pavel promptly shoved him into the turbo lift, stepping in himself shortly after. After the sliding doors had closed, he turned around just in time to see Hikaru crumple to the ground and he cried out in earnest, lunging forwards towards the helmsman just before his head cracked against the floor. He caught him seamlessly, cradling the mess of charcoal hair in his lap.

"Damn it Hikaru!" he exclaimed, pulling the unconscious officer to his feet as the lift slowed to a halt. Just as the doors were opening, he swung Hikaru's arm over his shoulder and clasped his own arm around his friend's waist, stumbling like a three legged dog out of the turbolift.

Step by step, they made their way down the narrow corridors with Pavel encountering no one to help him along the way. He soon realized that nearly every crew member was busy outfitting the vessel with the Romulan technology they had stolen and, though he realized the importance of this mission to the umpteenth degree, he still wished for someone to appear and help him with the proverbial sack of potatoes in his arms, "_черт возьми_ you're heavy," he muttered gracelessly, eyeing the doors of sickbay just up ahead.

They quickly stepped through the sliding doors and two nurses were immediately upon them, helping Pavel carry the unconscious helmsman to a biobed a few metres away. The young Russian stayed by his side as the nurses scanned him fervently, exchanging nervous glances between one another. One of the nurses pressed a hypo into the side of the helmsman's neck, opening his airwaves and allowing him to breathe a little bit better then he was. The other quickly fled into the deeper reaches of sickbay, obviously on a mission, while the other one stayed put, still frowning over Hikaru's sleeping form with the spent hypo in her hand.

"What's ze matter?"Pavel asked quietly, barely swallowing over the growing lump in his throat. The nurse looked up at him warily, acknowledging the bands on his golden sleeves before responding.

"A doctor will be here momentarily to further assess him," the nurse replied, her multiple eyes roving between him and the patient lying prone on the bed, "Will you be staying?"

Chekov wrapped one of his hands around the back of his neck, roughly massaging the tense muscles beneath his messy curls as he stared down at Hikaru, "Yes, for ze moment."

The pinkish humanoid disappeared behind the secluding partition and appeared again moments later, a flimsy padded chair held gingerly in her tri-fingered hands, "Have a seat. You may be here a long while."

"Thanks," Chekov replied, relieving the small nurse of the chair and placing it down beside him. He sat upon it and sighed roughly, his eyes grazing across the giant goose egg nestled just behind Sulu's ear, "I was afraid of zat."

* * *

Jim was more than relieved to step off of the shuttle's ramp and onto the loading platform for more than one reason; he was alive for starters, which was always a plus, and he was back on his beloved ship, meaning that the Romulans hadn't blown them to pieces while they were gone. He was especially glad to be away from the small vessel because he could finally put some distance in between the belligerent, cantankerous moanings and groaning of his chief medical officer who had obstinately refused to let Spock treat him. He had held his injured, probably broken arm tightly to his chest and had continued to rebuff Spock's persistent urgings, resulting in McCoy's injury only getting worse. Bones would accuse him of remedial debauchery and then plunge once again into a pain driven rant, driving everyone else around him, but especially Spock, medically insane.

It hadn't gotten any better from the moment McCoy had momentously faltered once night had fallen on the desert planet to the time Jim had scuttled out of the shuttle craft; and the young captain, though tired and scuffed, was silently blessing his lucky stars for the brilliant moment of peace.

Not that it would last, of course.

"Captain Kirk! Captain Kirk!" A yeoman rushed up towards him and fell into stride as Jim made his way down a hallway, all the while fumbling with a pile of stacked PADDs in her hands. She finally found the one she was looking for and, with blushing cheeks, began relaying off the events and situations on the Enterprise he had missed. He found that it hadn't been much, save an explosion in one of the labs and a converter malfunction in the mess hall. He continued to listen passively, nearly leaving the yeoman behind as he banked down a corridor.

"And the Romulans sir, they haven't made a move yet unless you count their orbital patterns because of the gravitational pull of the planets which could very well be considered as movement but I'm sure you don't want to be bothered by that kind of thing and Lieutenant Uhura, she's a chief linguistics officer if you didn't know that already but I'm sure you did because you're the captain after all and you're supposed to know these things and I imagine you should know everyone on this ship but if you don't I guess that's up to you, you're the captain. What was I saying? Oh right, Lieutenant Uhura intercepted a message from one of the ships that's near Earth, which I gather is a very important ship considering that the message beside it says 'very important' in big capital letters and–"

"That will be all yeoman," Jim exclaimed, hurrying with all his strength to beat her to the turbolift doors, "Gotta go!"

"But sir, I wasn't done–"

Jim heaved a heavy sigh of relief as the doors sealed shut and the turbolift began its journey upwards. He leant against the side of the metallic mechanism and ran a jaded hand through his rich black hair; did they not teach succinct communications in StarFleet anymore?

Within seconds of that passing thought, he was stepping onto the bridge, nodding and making eye contact with each of the crew members that he passed. He clapped Scotty on the shoulder and smirked resignedly, running his other hand through his dusty, grimy hair in an attempt to keep himself awake, "Any word from the Romulans?"

"Nothin' capt'n. Are ye expectin' somethin'?"

"Yeah; once they get back to their respective vessels they'll be beaming over to the Enterprise to make the trade here. Spock's hounding up the survivors as we speak," Jim replied, scooting around Scotty and plopping into his command chair.

"An' the rest o' it? How did the gatherin' gae? Do we 'ave 'em on oour side?"

Jim smirked tiredly, fully aware that the entire bridge crew was listening intently for the reply he would give. He would have been able to hear a pin drop, much to his delight, "Congratulations crew; I think we just made history. We've managed to treaty with the craziest, most elusive fuckers in the entire quadrant and if that's not worth mentioning in the history books, I don't know what is," he paused as a smattering of conversation erupted on the bridge, raising his hand momentarily for them to quiet down, "Lay a course in for the Trans-Cassiopian nebula and hold tight; we'll be hitting warp hopefully within the hour. Speaking of which, where the hell is Sulu and Chekov? Aren't they on duty?"

"Thay vanished nae five minutes ago," Scotty replied sheepishly, I dinnae ken whaur thay went."

"Ah," Jim replied, staring absently at the two ensigns that had taken their place. They were working efficiently enough, diligently laying in the obscenely complicated course they were about to manoeuvre into the ship's computer. It would take twenty two different starts and stops to get through and around the various obstacles that made the nebula such a safe haven to the Federation and despite himself, he was a little unnerved that his best officers weren't at the helm.

Jim excused Scotty, much to the engineer's joyous relief, and he took a brief moment of silence to take stock of his injuries. He'd scratched up his ribs pretty badly when he nearly dove off of the cliff to save Spock and the gashes beneath his uniform were beginning to sting. Every time he moved the scabs would rip off of their respective wounds, jostling Jim with a new spark of pain that ran like a current up and down his side. He was pretty sure he had done something with his shoulder as well but he figured it could wait, knowing quite well that Bones had had a hell of a day and wouldn't want to patch him up.

"Sir! Scanners have picked up phaser fire on deck three."

Jim stilled, "Single shot?"

"Affirmative," the ensign at one of the farther stations replied, "Set to stun."

"What part of the ship?"

"Engineering, steam room."

Jim frowned and rubbed forcefully at his rough cheeks. There had been reports of insects in the past down in that area, some of them the size of watermelons, and the chief of security had allowed certain senior officers to carry phasers should an unwelcome visitor decide to make a guest appearance. He had been meaning to get the ship eradicated during their next shore leave, but it was a little too late for that now, with StarFleet out of service potentially evermore.

"Leave it. It was probably another one of those roaches," Jim replied, slumping further into his chair. The ensign acknowledged and filed the alert away for further inspection if it were ever needed. The ensign returned to his scanners, swallowing the intuitive sensation that something wasn't right clawing at her back.

* * *

Grinnning, K'Tol strode out of the steam room with the phaser hidden neatly in her boot. Her fingers were still tingling with the human contact, her mind reeling with the information she knew would make the Council's head spin. She would receive so much recognition, so much fame after she gave them what she knew. She would become like Isha but better, not as cowardly, not as selfless. The young Romulan strode down the corridor and disappeared into a turbolift, her eyes alight with malice.

Her Cheshire grin didn't fade away until she walked back into her temporary quarters. Somebody was waiting for her.

"Former Commander Ford. A pleasure to finally meet you."

* * *

REVIEW DAMNIT

Love and fluff,

Brontë


	26. Chapter 26

First off, I'd just like to mention that I am by no means a doctor and I apologize in advance to any med students out there. I tried my best, I tried my best.

Secondly, why do I have so many watchers and so little reviewers? Let's not have this turn into the Harry Potter fandom here; try an act of selfless kindness and let me (and the rest of us desperate authors out there) know how were doing!

Cause really, 2,000 hits and five reviews? Not cool. Not in the slightest.

Now that that's off my chest, here goes!

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Six**

"Damn it Chapel, where the hell is Koi? I'd like to be able to use this arm again damnit!"

McCoy burst into sickbay like a disgruntled tempest, Chapel trailing obediently behind him on his stomping heels. He snatched a tricorder off of a med table and promptly began scanning himself, barking ruthlessly at Chapel to fetch him a knitter and an anaesthetic. She scattered and disappeared into a corner full of cabinets, searching both frantically and fearfully for the tools the doctor had ordered.

"Koi damnit! Where are you?!"

There was a brief shudder of movement from the corner of his vista and a multi-eyed nurse quickly came into his line of vision from the surgery vicinity in the farther reaches of sickbay. McCoy instantly caught sight of the bright red blood on her gloves and swallowed instinctively, his own ailment already forgotten.

"Sir," the cherry nurse said meekly, refusing to make eye contact with the irritable medic, "Doctor Koi is in surgery."

"Situation?"

"Subdural hematoma sir. Right temporal lobe has been damaged sir."

"Severity?"

The pinkish nurse swallowed roughly; she didn't have to answer.

"Chapel!" McCoy barked at full volume, shifting off of the biobed he had been sitting on, "Scratch that. Just get me a sling and my scrubs."

Chapel emerged from the cupboards, bone knitter and hypo in hand, and threw him a look that McCoy eagerly chose to ignore. He grunted as the trip to the floor painfully jarred his broken humerus and scowled further, the lines in his forehead deepening as he fought the tsunami of nausea welling up within him. He followed the nurse to the doors of the surgery room and scrubbed his one hand in the sanitation as best he could, cursing Beta Omega XIV to all and sundry under his breath.

"Chapel, help me into this damn thing," he growled in a muffled voice, his mind already processing the possibilities and situations he was about to plunge into. Chapel obediently wrapped the cotton sling around his upper body, gingerly padding the strap where it rubbed up against his neck. He nodded to her in silent thanks as she slipped his good arm through his scrubs, tying the unused sleeve into a knot behind him. She gently brought the face mask to his mouth and slid the elastics over his ears, slipping a surgical glove onto his functioning hand right after that. He thanked her again and strode towards the sterile doorway, barely catching a glimpse of the miserable, pacing ensign to his left before entering the room.

"McCoy? What on Earth are you-"

"Move over," McCoy muttered, eyeing the patient sprawled out on the biobed. He couldn't see his face but then again, it didn't really matter; a patient is a patient is a patient as far as he was concerned, "My God man, how long has he had this?"

"A few days according to the ensign that brought him in," Koi said, moving to the other side of the bed, "Non evasive surgery wasn't possible. The edema burst just as I got here and he went into cardiac arrest shortly after," she sighed, wiping the sweat off her brow with her unspoilt sleeve, "I haven't seen this kind of Transcranial Phaser Therapy since the colony on Citius III."

McCoy snorted, "Get me a scalpel," he ordered, holding out his waiting palm for the device, "Keep going."

"He came back at 300 and we brought him in right away. Clamps please," Koi replied, waiting until the device was put into her hand before diving back in, "I stemmed the bleeding for the most part but the cavity keeps filling up with blood. Dilator please. He's lost a lot too, at least half a pint."

"Damnit kid, what the hell did you do?" McCoy asked the prone body on the table, finding the source of the bleeding and asphyxiating it with a cauterisation tool. He barked for a few other surgical instruments before finding the source of the trauma all together, using various devices to heal the damaged pia mater and to knit the arachnoid mater back together. He took a deep breath and stepped backwards, silently beckoning Koi to finish the rest.

"Fantastic job," Koi said, her tone brimming with admiration. She smiled at the one handed doctor and began suturing the wound back together with the dermal regenerator, "I didn't even think to approach it like that. I was just trying to stem the bleeding."

"You learn something new every day," McCoy replied quietly, nodding to the young doctor through his drooping lids, "You gotta use your eyes Koi. Technology ain't a substitute for the senses, no matter what StarFleet might have told you."

Koi nodded, absorbing the words of her senior officer as he walked out of the surgery room and into sanitisation. He assumed that Chapel would have been waiting to help pull off the blood splattered scrubs but lo and behold, she wasn't, so he hobbled to the door of the hallway to wave her in, grumbling the whole way. He was about to start bellowing and unleashing his verbal wrath on the young nurse when he caught a glimpse of the frightened young ensign behind her.

McCoy nearly tripped over himself as he stumbled back to the doors of surgery, staring out the window and at the body within. The nurses were in the midst of transporting the patient to recovery and as they lifted him off of the biobed, Bones managed to catch a glimpse of the young helmsman whose brains he had just been elbows deep in.

The good doctor gulped and turned around, all together realizing where the hematoma had come from.

He tried to take the scrubs off himself; he had had a hell of a day but...the kid, well, he needed the company. Hopefully Chapel was doing something to keep the kid's mind off of the fate of his best friend...or whatever the hell he was to him. Frankly, he didn't really want to know.

After a few good minutes of cursing and swearing, McCoy managed to kick off his scrubs and boot them into a corner, opting to make Chapel clean them up later. He burst out of the room with his patented scowl and approached the young ensign like the ornery old man that he was, grumbling and staggering like a zombie med from hell. He eyed the young navigator and sighed quietly, noticing well enough that he was going to have a meltdown at any given moment.

"He'll be okay," McCoy muttered, nodding once to Chekov before lurching away to his office. He snatched the long abandoned bone knitter along the way and disappeared into the reclusive room, verbally locking the sliding doors behind him. He dug his bourbon out from behind a pile of medical PADDs and sat down, holding the bottle between his knees and using his functioning hand to twist off the top. He spared no time in drowning himself, taking the bottle between his lips; he drank until he couldn't feel his feet and he knew it was time.

He switched on the small device and laid it on his lap, pausing for a moment before digging his toothbrush out of his desk. He placed the plastic grip between his teeth and braced for impact.

_Jesus,_ he winced in agony as he aimed the device at his upper arm and began the operation.

Twenty minutes later, after overriding the codex on the doorway, Nyota strode into the room. Her eyes immediately fell upon the crumpled figure half laying on the ground and upon realising what he had done, called for a doctor. Koi was there soon enough, tricorder in hand.

"I can't believe it," she muttered, staring at awe at the results in her hands.

"What? What is it?" Nyota prompted in earnest, her heart pattering nervously in her chest.

"He managed to knit his bone back together," Koi replied quietly, "And miraculously stay conscious. He must..."

Nyota pursed her lips and sighed, her brow furrowed, "Goddamn it Leo," she sighed again, her hands dropping from her hips, "Can you help me get him to his quarters? I don't want him spending another night locked up in his office."

"No problem," Koi replied, gingerly wrapping one of McCoy's arms around her stout shoulders. Nyota did likewise and propped him up against her body, the both of them dragging the unconscious doctor between them until they reached his quarters.

"Help me get him down," Nyota said through gritted teeth, lowering him down onto the pristine bed she knew he hadn't touched in weeks. Once he was flat on his back, she thanked the young Japanese doctor and waited until she left before taking off his shoes one by one and tucking him into his bed.

"Damnit Leo," she muttered, collapsing onto his bed and sitting beside him, "Why do you do this to yourself?" She smoothed his hair and carefully arranged his arm so that it was bent across his chest. Huffing indignantly, she got up and started to stomp out of the room, only to stop cold when she heard his voice, barely audible against the relentless din of the warp engines.

"Nyota?"

She spun around and nearly ran to him, "What's the matter Leo? Are you alright?"

He groaned, "Grab me one of them..." he flailed his good arm towards him nightstand. She quickly opened the top drawer and snatched the sleek, little hypo from its dais, cradling it in her hand.

"Which-"

"The green one."

She took one of the olive tinted vials gingerly between the pads of her fingers and slid it into the hypo device, firing up the little injection. She pressed it into his neck with a sharp hiss and the doctor let out a deep breath as the pain medication began to circulate throughout his body.

"Thank you..."

He fell asleep not ten seconds later and Nyota, snuggled in beside him, wasn't far behind.

* * *

"We have provided you with twelve mainframe processors and the detailed instructions on how to install them into your computer databases. Should you choose to install them, however, situate the drives in your ship's engineering division. They require a great deal of dilithium energy and should only be used with the utmost consideration."

"Thank you Councillor," Kirk replied, smiling as pleasantly as he could while keeping his mind firmly shut. He was dead tired and it was proving to harder than he thought, "Here's the package," Jim pulled a small box from his trouser pocket, the microchip that had been implanted in Isha firmly secured inside, "Let this trade be a symbol of good will to both your race and mine, " he handed the little box over, careful not to make skin to skin contact, "All of the survivors have been beamed aboard your vessels and the ruined warbird in now in the Council's possession. I wish you and your people good will and I look forward to our alliance together."

"As do I," Councillor Terrh'vnau agreed, something reminiscent of a smirk crossing his features, "Farewell."

"Goodbye," Jim replied, fighting to keep his ram-rod composure in check as the Romulan disappeared into a multitude of molecules and light. The young captain nearly collapsed once he was finally gone and he steadied himself on a beam, pulling out his communicator and flipping the little device open with his thumb, "Kirk to bridge. Have you heard from Sulu and Chekov?"

There was a clearly audible hesitation on the other line, "Sir, Sulu is in surgery."

Jim blinked, "What?"

"We just heard too. Doctor Koi was pretty brief about it but she did assure me that Sulu would be down for the count for a little while, Chekov included."

Jim sighed, raking his fingers through his charcoal hair, "Why am I always the last to know about these things?"

"Like I said Kirk, I just heard now," said Lieutenant Jemison, the stand-in navigator, taking in a deep breath, "Lieutenant Uhura received a transmission from Earth about an hour ago or so. Earth has been attacked and Starbase One took heavy damage."

"Did Ryan and Peters get there alright? What about StarFleet, are they okay?"

"Both ships got there safely and San Francisco wasn't harmed. She spoke to an officer on the Regime. She told the lieutenant that Ryan and his teams are all down there now, scrounging up spare equipment and helping out."

"Can they not establish communications yet?"

"They've got moderate length transmissions up and running and they'll have deep space communications within a week. The Andorians and the Tellarites are channelling all their resources on StarBase One so we can initiate contact again. Andoria has ships in the Neutral Zone that they can't get a hold of and the Tellarites have an ambassador on the Coruscant they'd really like back."

"I'm not surprised," Jim mumbled, palming the stubble on his cheeks, "How bad were we hit?"

"Most of Eastern Asia. Crew members whose families were affected have been notified."

"Damn it," he groaned, finally peeling himself off of the support beam and forcing his legs to walk, "What's their ETA to the nebula?"

"They're heading out sometime in the next twenty four hours. Should I make the order for you to get us out of here?"

"Nah," Jim muttered, banking down a corridor with tired but purposeful strides, "I'll be up there in a minute. I should be there."

"No," Jemison retorted firmly but Jim could nearly see the smirk on her lips, "You should be sleeping. Both Dr. McCoy and Commander Spock have reported off duty and Alpha shift is dismissed in an hour. Get up here, send us off and then please get some sleep Captain. Don't make me launch Dr. McCoy on you."

"Damn," Jim let out a small burst of breath through his lips, too tired to laugh, "If you put it that way..."

She laughed quietly and cut the connection, leaving Jim feeling oddly alone in the corridor. He flipped his communicator closed and stepped into a turbolift, ordering the machine upwards with a tired, jaded sigh. The doors opened moments later and he strode out onto the bridge, smiling solemnly at Jemison before collapsing onto his chair.

"Lieutenant, alert the Exceilsor. We're getting the hell out of here. Ensign Merad, you ready?" The junior officer replacing Sulu at the helm turned around and nodded eagerly at his captain, his fingers tingling with anticipation, "Have you laid in the coordinates?"

"Yes sir," the man replied, his voice laced with a thick Saudi Arabian accent, "Commander Spock confirmed the relay."

"Good," Jim replied, "Warp six. You know what to do," he dragged himself from his chair as the ship lurched into warp and grinned at Jemison, "You have the comm. Lieutenant. I'll need you to double shift after gamma as well."

The Brazilian woman didn't look surprised, "Yes sir."

With a quick nod, he left the bridge reluctantly and made his way to his quarters, rubbing his tired eyes with his fists in an attempt to keep himself awake. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept longer than a few hours in the past couple of weeks and he was looking forward to collapsing on his bed and not moving for a long, long time.

He typed in his entry code hastily, jabbing at the silver codex with his tired fingers. He finally got the right cipher after three attempts and he hauled himself through the doors towards his sleeping cabin, dragging his feet with each step like an old, broken dog. He kicked off his boots as he trudged across the carpet and slipped his dirty, tattered gold tunic halfway off his body before finally reaching his glorious destination and—

"Perhaps you should practice some sort of personal hygiene before proceeding to bed. You're filthy."

Jim spun around and nearly knocked himself over, startled nearly half to death by Spock's blatant observation. Through the dim light he was able to catch a glimpse of the elusive Vulcan, poised like an imperial emperor on the couch opposite his bed.

"Jesus Spock," he half cried, gripping his pounding heart through his chest, "Could you at least have warned me?"

Spock smirked barely, becoming all too good at hiding the overactive human hormones coursing through his veins, "I wish to speak with you on the events of today. But first, I find it necessary that you shower. Your current condition is displeasing."

Jim was too tired to argue; he wrenched the rest of his gold tunic off of his body and proceeded with the rest of his clothes, barely paying attention to the pair of Vulcan eyes watching him as though he were a fascinating experiment.

The young human stumbled over to his washroom, the dim light of the rushing stars throwing the musculature of his lean body into sharp relief. As Jim bent over to rid himself of his regulation trousers, Spock was rewarded with a glimpse of his back curled like Michelangelo had carved him out of stone. His throat burned as the human finally stepped into the washroom, his entire body swathed in brilliant light before disappearing into nothingness.

Spock listened as the young human turned on the water and stepped into the shower stall, his ears perking up incredibly as he heard each droplet impact against his butterscotch skin. He breathed out quickly, attempting to quell the raging chemicals coursing through his veins and failing miserably, forcing himself upright to pace incessantly instead. It wasn't his preferred pastime as he considered it to be all too human but he indulged himself anyway, desperately hoping that it would distract him from the tired, naked body only metres away.

The young human pulled his fingers through his blackened hair and sighed jadedly, turning off the shower with a weary flick of his wrist. He stepped out of the stall and wrapped his towel around his dripping body, mussing his ink coloured tresses in the grey cloth. Forgetting the rest of his torso, he wrapped the colourless towel around his waist and dragged his feet out into his bedroom once again.

He haltered violently, frozen in place as a jagged set of nails tore down his bare chest, leaving thin red trails of scratches in their wake. He felt the Vulcan's breath against the nape of his neck, travelling tortuously upwards until he met the gentle curve of his ear.

Jim's towel dropped to the floor.

"It intrigues me," the Vulcan growled in his ear, "that you would deny me since we returned."

"I'm sorry," Jim hiccupped, his eyes as wide as they would go, "I didn't want to be read."

"Do you not trust me?" Spock hummed, nibbling the tender flesh just behind his ear.

"Of course I do," he swallowed, finding it all too difficult to concentrate as the pads of Spock's fingers inched lower and lower, "You blocked...you blocked me out today and I...I have every right to...to do the same."

"That is true," the Vulcan skimmed his lips against the swell of Jim's shoulder, trailing sideways into the crook of his neck, "I am sorry as well."

Jim groaned quietly and leant backwards so that his head was resting on the Vulcan's broad shoulder. Spock continued his sweet ministrations, becoming progressively rougher and rougher, leaving speckled, purple bruises upon his butterscotch skin. Pale arms snaked around the human's slender waist and lead him back to his unkempt bed, dropping him down onto the mattress and following him into the chaotic mess of bed sheets. Half aroused and half catatonic, Jim fell out of consciousness, barely aware of the presence wreaking havoc on his mind.

* * *

"I've been trying to get a hold of you all day Sandwich! What happened? What's going on?"

Scotty turned the volume down to his comm. unit in main Engineering and starter waving frantically at Keenser for his earphones, "Am richt here Lady. We haed a hell 'o a day."

He could hear the rustling of something or other from the speakers and suddenly Janice rand's voice was in a whisper, "Bad news?"

"Nae Lady. Guid news aw aboot. We're flyin' the coup richt nou."

"Great! I mean," she fell back into a whisper again, obviously embarrassed by the sudden outburst, "Great. Have you told the news to the Golden Wizard yet?"

Keenser finally came back with a pair of earphones and Scotty quickly thanked him, synching the hearing device with his comm. unit, "Am waitin' fer the bi' reveal."

"So you're going through with it?"

"O' course ah am. An' the rest o' ya arre comin' wit meh. It's aboot time everybooday kens who we arre, officially o' course."

"Should I let everybody else know? Or are you going to send out the broadcast?"

"Am ah wee bit busy makin' magic boxes if yeh be catchin' meh meanin'."

No problem. I'll let them know and put out another transmission," she paused for a second and Scotty could almost hear her smile, "The Rebellion seems eager."

"Aye. Let meh ken if yeh git a reply. Sandwich oout." He flicked at the off button, effectively cutting the audio signal, and spun around in his chair, whisking off his earphones and clamping eyes on the little green creature sitting cross legged on the ground, "Whut arre yeh lookin' at?"

Keenser flailed his arms, nearly drowning in his tailored uniform, and spoke a few words in his garbled Standard; Scotty rolled his eyes and sighed, hoisting himself out of his chair with a stretch and a groan, "Yeh off duty? Fine then. Go crawl away in the wee tubes, see if ah care!"

Scotty huffed and stomped out of his makeshift office with a brooding expression. He needed a coffee, badly.

It was precisely at this time that he tripped over a corpse.

* * *

Thank you to: lyricoloratura, severuspottersnape (I was talking about the orchestral version. I'm not much for the other kind), MirrorFlower and DarkWind (Thank you!), bookworm-4-ever2012 (drunken shout outs are the best kind of shout outs! Thanks!) and calipalace (K'Tol has always been bad! Isha is the good one. And I say slap my ass and call me Mary all the time so I figured it would be fitting. I'm pretty much the female McCoy. Thank you always!)

PS. I was so unbelievably drunk off my ass when I wrote the Scotty/Rand part and when I read it the next day I nearly burst out into tears of hilarity when I realized that I had called Jim a "Golden Wizard". Needless to say, I had to keep it!

Love and fluff,

Brontë


	27. Chapter 27

Holy shiz folks! The amount of feedback I received this time around was amazing! My reviewers are the greatest in the world and I love you all.

I would have gotten this out a few days earlier but I was distracted by this show called Firefly/Serenity. I had never heard about it before in my life until my friend let me borrow the season and the movie and dear god, I loved it! I don't know about you, but Star Trek totally needs some Reavers!

Anyway, without further ado...

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Seven**

If you were to ask Pavel Chekov which way was up at that moment, he probably wouldn't have been able to tell you. He far too busy losing his mind and simultaneously eroding a hole in the floor with his relentless pacing, back and forth and back and forth across the living space of his quarters.

Pavel wasn't sure how long it had been since he was forced out of sickbay and lead back to his quarters but if he had been responsive enough to guess, he would have estimated that he had been pacing a good four or five hours. Stubble was beginning to pepper his ivory cheeks and his eyes were dry and bloodshot from keeping them so immeasurably wide, too busy staring at nothing to remember to blink. He had managed to change out of his uniform sometime within the past four or five hours, throwing on a black tank and a pair of shapeless grey trousers that hung loosely off his hips. He absently ran his palm over the strip of exposed skin between the hem of his shirt and the elastic of his slacks, his pale skin shimmering in the pastel lights of the rushing stars.

He nearly jumped out of orbit when his comm. unit started bleeping at him and the young navigator scampered towards it, nearly twisting his ankle on his long discarded boots in the process. He howled in pain and made the rest of his journey hopping on one leg, cursing and swearing in every colour of Russian he knew.

He collapsed onto his desk, his lean chest pressed flat against the synthetic wood surface, and turned his comm. unit on audio only, "Chekov here."

A multi-eyed nurse appeared on the screen, her rosewater skin iridescent beneath the stark, sterile lights, "Lieutenant Sulu has regained consciousness. If you would like to come see hi-"

But Chekov was already out the door.

* * *

Jim had never been one to drabble in mind altering chemical substances, the pleasant buzz of alcohol being just enough to fuel his reckless streak; but if he had ever wondered what acid would feel like, he was presently getting a pretty good notion. Colours and shapes and textures he had never seen or felt before were flogging his dreams with the ruthless intensity of an ion storm, setting every nerve in his skin alight.

He jerked awake, panting and glistening with sweat, and realized in his delusional stupor that he hadn't slept that well in months. His muscles were humming, his heart thrumming in his chest with a fervour he didn't realize he had; every part of his body was tingling as if he were connected to an electric current and he had never felt so _alive._

He turned his head towards his living quarters and caught a glimpse of his Vulcan's bare back, hunched over his unruly desk with an air of frustration he had never truly seen in Spock before. He allowed Spock's conscious to flood into his own once again, suddenly overcome with a sensation so strong it nearly knocked him flat onto his back.

The Vulcan's head snapped around at the conscious presence in his mind, his eyes gleaming with a smirk so delightfully wicked; Jim, nearly choking on his tongue at the sight, scooted to the other side of the mattress with the grace of a man whose thoughts were lost on something else entirely.

The Vulcan took a step forward and Jim took a sharp intake of breath, images and sensations that weren't his flooding into his subconscious like a broken dam. He stopped breathing, his cerulean eyes clouded as the Vulcan drew closer, his bare chest drawing the dazed human's waning concentration. Only the necessary amounts of oxygen were reaching his bewildered brain; his body was far too busy assimilating blood elsewhere.

Jim wasn't sure how Spock managed to cover the room so quickly, seeming to have slid across the room in a matter of seconds. His left shin brushed against the frame of the bed, prompting his right leg to bend up and over the edge, burying itself into the soft folds of the mattress. Jim pushed his body back as far as it would go, lips parted, mind spinning, muscles coiled like flexible springs just itching for release.

But there was nowhere to run, nowhere to flee.

Not that he wanted to.

Slender lips against his neck brought him out of his ecstatic stupor, jostling him from his thoughts and back to the present. The heat on his skin, once nearly intolerable, was now like a warm rush of desert wind against his body. Enraptured by the feeling, he let himself sink into the touch, his mind null of almost anything else.

"I believe the polite human greeting would be 'good morning'."

Jim didn't have the cognitive abilities to reply, so he didn't bother. Spock smirked against his skin, sensing the speechlessness of his mate and brought his merciless tongue against the lobe of his ear. He took the sensitive skin between his teeth, nibbling gently, "Is it not human custom to reply?"

"Good...morning," Jim managed to gasp, forcing his mulish vocal chords to function. He leant back and was saved from the floor by two lingering arms and a set of good reflexes.

"You have assimilated Vulcan DNA and yet your acute gracelessness remains prevalent," Spock said smugly, his slender lips pulled into a grin, "I'm not surprised."

"You're still a jackass," Jim replied in kind, scooting over so that he was leaning against the headboard. He was graced with the sight hovering just before him, bare chest and black slacks barely clinging onto his jutting hip bones. They gave the impression of being mercifully loose, just inches from falling off of him entirely and—

The ship rocked violently as it fell out of warp, knocking both Jim and Spock off of the mattress and onto the carpeted floor. Jim leapt to his feet as the telltale screech of hull impact echoed throughout the ship and he dashed towards his dresser, snatching a pair of knickers and his uniform from the drawers. He whipped everything on in a matter of seconds, his boots and his tunic the last remnants of his nearly completed outfit. He spun around, looking for the flash of gold when he saw the garment lying innocently across his First Officer's forearm, the Vulcan already completely dressed and looking as stoic as ever.

Jim was hopping over towards him in an attempt to pull on his boots and walk at the same time when the ship was impacted once again, throwing the dampeners for a loop. They were weightless in the air for approximately three seconds before they fell into a heap of tangled limbs on the floor, their bodies intertwined in a manner that nearly appeared to be impossible.

Jim paused, momentarily hesitating as a pair of lips moved unintentionally against his forehead; he wanted so badly to just strip off and throw him back onto that bed without reckoning and—

Jim pushed himself out of the heap and snatched at his tunic, throwing it onto his body and holding out a hand to the fallen Vulcan laying at his feet. Jerking out of his reverie, the Vulcan reached upwards and grasped the human by the wrist, thankful for the lack of physical contact. He nodded at the young captain in thanks once he was on his feet and followed him out the door, the both of them sprinting down the corridors with haste towards their main objective.

"Kirk to bridge," Jim barked into his communicator, "What the hell's going on?"

"Merad took us out of warp a split second off our bearing, just to the left of Aldebaren III. We're stuck in the asteroid field," Jemison's voice replied, her tone significantly stressed, "He can't get us out of here."

"Shit!" Jim exclaimed, fighting down the urge to drag Sulu out of sickbay himself. He flipped the communicator closed and banked down a corridor, nearly flattening a scampering cluster of ensigns against a wall conduit. Spock returned to his side effortlessly after having to skid to a halt for the ensigns and they continued to weave through the maze of hallways side by side until they reached the turbolift that would take them to the bridge.

There was another impact as the lift doors closed and Jim was thrown into the wall, ripping something in his already injured shoulder. He swallowed his exclamation of pain but it didn't go unnoticed, the link of their minds still gaping wide. They scrambled onto their feet and Jim barked at the computer to take them to the bridge, his voice cracking harshly.

"Are you alright?" Spock asked, his voice oddly restrained, the echoes of Jim's unmasked pain still racking through his system.

"I'm fine," Jim growled in reply, holding his shoulder with his other hand at an unnatural angle, "It's a long way from the heart."

Spock was about to retort when the lift doors whooshed open and Jim strode onto the bridge without another word, Spock hot on his heels.

"Report," Jim's voice rang out like a knife in the dark, startling every officer into turning around from their stations. Jim's eyes were murderous, his brow furrowed as he glared at the asteroid field through the view screen.

"Situation is unchanged," Jemison shouted over the din, her chocolate afro bobbing as a smaller asteroid rocked the ship. Jim stalked up towards the Middle Eastern officer and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, his body almost quaking with panic and inexperience. It was his first time manning a vessel of this constitution and he was quickly realizing that the training simulations didn't prepare him for this.

"You're dismissed ensign," he waved the stunned junior officer out of the chair and Jim quickly took his place, splaying his fingers across the eager station to get his bearings.

"Captain, I must object. Your specialization as a cadet was tactics not-"

"You," he spun around, facing Spock with steely eyes, "of all people should know the shit I'm capable of. Now get over here and help me."

A nearly overwhelming sense of something he couldn't quite describe flooded through the barriers of his mind, prompting Spock forward without another word. The confidence radiating off the young captain as he ordered the young African American lieutenant beside him for a quarter impulse thrusters, was like a wave of salt water crashing through the break. It was refreshing against the worry in his mind and against his logic he stepped forward, placing his hand on the crook of Jim's shoulder for a completely open link to his mind.

The sudden second point of view frightened the young captain for a moment, throwing him off of his guard. Spock immediately recoiled his presence, allowing their thoughts to coincide, intermingling their minds together as slowly as their time would allow. They acclimatised to the two viewpoints together, one made of pure intuition and the other of scientific spread. Jim ground his teeth together and began manoeuvring the flagship upwards with the tiny burst of speed he had ordered.

"Another quarter impulse on my mark," Jim ordered, Spock's logic guiding his fingers around the sensitive board. He banked left by .3 degrees, steering clear of a spherical asteroid nearly the size of Earth's moon.

"Descend by four percent," Spock instructed forcefully, squeezing Jim's trapezius muscle between his adept fingers.

"Half impulse power for three seconds," Jim demanded of the ensign, computing Spock's orders in his mind whilst simultaneously calculating the outcomes in split second intervals.

"Direction, right. Point six degrees and downwards."

Jim's fingers danced along the station boards, leading the ship out of harm's way once again.

"Merge left."

Jim banked right instead, narrowly escaping impact on the starboard engine, and barked at Jemison for quarter impulse power once again.

Spock appeared stunned, "I did not take the gravitational frequency into account," he said in almost a whisper, staring out at the asteroids with a blank expression. He gripped Jim's shoulder even tighter as a smaller asteroid made contact with the hull and Jim hissed, needing Spock's help desperately. He compensated as best he could and called to Spock through his mind in an attempt to regain the Vulcan's stunted concentration.

It cost them another ten nerve wracking minutes and forty six square feet of their starboard hull on deck seven to get them out of there but they did it and they were more than relieved when they finally reached the welcoming black of open space. Jim fell back into the chair with a sigh of relief and Spock loosened his iron grip on Jim's abused shoulder, stepping back to the captain's station and calling engineering at once.

"Bridge to engineering. What is our current status?"

There was a flurry of voices disrupting the channel before Scotty's broke through the din, "Ah just sent oout ah grooup oon deck seven. Thay'll beh oout o' the air lock inna wee moment. But whil-"

"How long will reparations take before we can resume maximum warp?"

"Mibbie an hoour or sou. The breach wasnae too miekle. But Commander ah-"

"Thank you Mister Scott. Please alert the bridge when reparations are-"

"THAR BEH A DEID BODY DOOWN 'ERE!"

Jim spun around, leaping out of his chair in a blur, "What?"

"Thank yeh," Scotty mumbled, relieved that he hadn't been cut off _again_, "'E's a crew member, Ensign Asher Ashquabi o' enginnerin, internal regulations section. Accordin' to the doc 'ere, he's been deid fer aboot six hours."

Jim slowly turned his head towards Spock, their eyes meeting in a realization that shook them both.

"Phaser fire?" Jim asked, his voice cracking slightly.

"Stunned by the looks o' it an 'is neck wus at ah wee odd angle. An' the doc said thar beh some broken banes in 'is heid like he been dunt or somethin'. She isnae sure 'ow-"

"What is the current location of the body?" Spock interrupted, his onyx eyes staring so intently at the comm. unit that Jim was sure it would melt beneath his gaze.

"The morgue ah imagin'. Why?"

Spock cut the connection and took off for the turbolift, Jim right on his heels. The captain barely had the chance to order Jemison with the comm. before the doors closed their line of vision.

"Romulans," Jim muttered, mirroring the thoughts of his First.

"His cranial injuries are consistent with one of my race or of Romulus who is unfamiliar with human physiology."

Jim looked up at him, his mouth curled into an odd grimace, "You can break us that easily?"

"With minimal force, yes," Spock kept his eyes forward attempting to shield the unpleasant emotions coursing through him at the thought, "It is not uncommon for a Vulcan to cause serious injury to a weaker species, Romulans being no exception."

The turbolift doors opened and they started down the corridor, their gate in perfect stride with each other, "So we can rule out any council members. None of them would have been stupid enough to leave a clue like that in the middle of our engineering bay."

"I concur," they banked down another hallway and paused their conversation as a group of officers passed, "Probability suggests that the culprit was one of the surviving Romulans we brought onto the ship. We would have detected the transportation otherwise."

"Right," Jim frowned, running his fingers thought his hair, "Now the question is, who could it have been?"

But Spock was already on it, "Commander Spock to security," he said into his communicator, "Security protocol Alpha Omega six four Delta three."

"Acknowledged Commander," a gravelly voice replied from the unit in Spock's hand, "What can we do for you?"

"I need your team to produce the security footage of all of the entrances into the engineering bay approximately six hours ago. Have the footage prepared within the next ten minutes. We will be up within the hour."

"Aye Commander. We're on it."

Spock closed his communicator and glanced sidelong at his captain, the young human's brow furrowed in thought. He didn't try to follow Jim's raging train of thought as a thousand and one scenarios rushed through his frantic mind like a freight transport. Spock shut his eyes and calmed himself, hoping that he'd influence his other half into becoming a little less nauseating; the speed at which Jim's mind was going was beginning to make him sick.

Jim steeled himself as they closed in on the morgue, bracing himself for the sight of a dead body lying languidly on a slab like a hunk of meat. The gruesome thought sent shivers down his spine but he swallowed the feeling, striding into the room with a fake confidence he had managed to drum up within himself.

"Boo!"

"AHHHHHH!!!"

A deranged voice was laughing maniacally from behind Jim and the young, startled captain gripped his spasming heart through his chest. Hunched over and heaving, Jim turned around and caught a glance of Dr. Leonard McCoy, pissing himself laughing against the cold chambers.

"Good god man," Bones said between chortles, panting and laughing so hard that tears were leaking from his eyes, "That was priceless! Priceless!"

The deadpanned expression and the homicidal glare in Jim's eyes did nothing to quell the doctor's hysterical laughter and he seriously contemplated locking him in with the damn bodies. A warning look from Spock was enough to calm the irate human marginally but his anger flared in him again when he saw Spock's slender lips quirked upwards in what threatened to turn into a smile.

"You're an asshole Bones," Jim grumbled, taking a step forwards before the cackling doctor, still doubled over in laughter. Bones waved him off and pulled himself upwards, using the handles on the wall unit to balance himself on his feet. He tried to stifle his sniggers as best he could, staggering off towards the other side of the room and motioning for the two officers to follow him.

"Rigor is just setting in," Bones began, still laughing spontaneously as he searched the chambers for the ensigns name, "Lividity on his back indicated that he wasn't moved and was killed right there in the middle of the bay," Bones found the name and smiled at both Jim and Spock, grinning like a maniac as he gripped the metal handle, "His C2 was transacted and shattered, literally, and post mortem bruises indicated that AHHHHHHH!!!"

"AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"

Bones doubled over and fell to the floor again, crying hysterically after pulling the dead body out of the cold chamber. Bones had shouted and Jim had shrieked in kind, scrambling across the room at a speed that wasn't humanly possible.

"I can't....I can't believe... I can't believe you fell for that!" Bones sputtered, slapping the sterile floor with his palm. Jim, nearly recovered from his potential heart attack, stomped over, his face flushed crimson.

"Fuck you Bones! What the fuck was that?" Jim glared at Spock, whose telltale smirk wasn't helping his disposition, and kicked at the hysterically rolling doctor with his boot just hard enough to hurt. Bones wasn't really all that inclined to answer him so Jim just stood there and waited, still fuming until both the doctor and his traitorous first officer regained their professionalism.

"Okay, okay," Bones wheezed, finally pulling himself off of the ground, "Your victim's neck was broken and suffered some cranial haemorrhaging on the right temporal lobe," Bones looked upwards and caught a glimpse of Spock's expression, "I'm assuming you two know who did it?"

"We are certain that the assassin was Romulan."

Bones snorted, "Figures. That would explain the skull fractures, you know, with all that mind voodoo you freaks do. Either way, his head was crushed before he was dead and his neck was nearly ripped off his body soon after."

"This confirms our hypothesis," Spock said, turning towards the still fuming captain. He nodded his head astutely, still refusing to make eye contact, and started to walk towards the doors, "Captain?"

"I heard you," he turned around, giving both Spock and the grinning doctor a death glare, "Let's go."

Jim left the room soon after and Bones rolled his chestnut eyes, his white teeth gleaming in the sterile light. He pushed the deceased body back into the cold chamber with a flick of his wrist and strode over to gather the files, "Got any idea which one?"

"Negative. I will be consulting the security tapes shortly," Bones nodded, Cheshire grin still plastered on his face, "You are in an unusually agreeable disposition."

Bones looked up at him from his set of PADDs and cocked an eyebrow, his lip twitching upwards with mirth. He leaned towards Spock with a devious glint in his eye and smirked, "My God man, was Nyota always that flexible? Because by God, she-"

"Thank you doctor. That will be all."

Bones broke out laughing and Spock quickly turned around, retracing the steps of his captain. He strode out the door and was surprised to see Jim just outside, slouching against the wall with one foot propped up against it, his arms folded tightly across his golden clad chest.

"Can we go?" Jim asked sharply, his lips still pouting in a way that thoroughly distracted, "This place gives me the creeps."

"Of course," Spock replied, humouring the sulking captain. He shielded his amusement as they began down the hallway, Spock walking just a little behind him. He examined Jim's slender body as they continued on, his clothes creasing and twisting around his slender torso like a well fitted glove. The way his trousers clung to his lean waist, the way his boots grasped his sinewy calves. He had lost track of his steps, lost track of time and they covered the entirety of the lower deck, leaving him surprised when Jim stopped dead in his tracks and Spock promptly ran into him.

"Spock?"

"Yes?"

"Stop thinking about my ass. I can hear you."

* * *

Thank you to: MirrorFlower and DarkWind (thank you as always), Hurricanelights (Thank you! I'm honoured that you consider Uncharted as one of the best you've read!), bookworm-4-ever2012 (Teh Golden Wizard FTW!), YourDarkMistress. (I hoped you enjoyed the McCoy cameo in this installment! Your review inspired me to include his crazy ass. And thank you for the amazing compliments!), lyricoloratura (lyri = awesomesauce), calipalace (I'm glad you enjoyed my "artistic digression"! I'm tempted to do a companion piece, maybe of The General or of K'Tol but I don't know...either way, thank you so much for your amazing compliments! 3), SeverusPotterSnape (K/S just for you!), Kobato00 x3 (Thank you for all the reviews! I am planning on doing a side chapter a little later on...you'll just have to wait and see!), K2 on Alcatraz (thank you again!), knp10 (I love writing Scotty! He brings the lulz!), Sharingan-Fer-Sure (Thank you so much my dear!), Veglma x4 (I missed you! Thank you for all the kind words and your hilarity! You always make me laugh!)

I love you people. Please review again!

Love and fluff,

Brontë


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter twenty eight = pain in the ass! This took me forever and a half to write this damn thing. I have but one warning for you in this one and its...

REVENGE OF THE TECHNOBABBLE!

Onwards!

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Eight**

"Euhh...get off of me."

"Dah! Dah! Sorry!" Pavel yelped in reply, pushing himself off of the semi-conscious Hikaru. The helmsman breathed in deeply, relieved to have the buzzing Russian off of his torso in what had been a haphazard, horizontal hug. He tried to drag his tired eyes over to where the teenager was hopping around and chattering away, but found that it hurt him too much to bother and settled on staring at the foot of his bed instead; besides, he didn't actually need to look over at Pavel to see that he was nearly drooling in relief.

"Bounce any higher and you're going to give yourself your very own concussion," Hikaru teased lightly, prompting the young navigator to drop like a stone into his seat and resume berating him; he had been jumping between elated and scolding like a bipolar puppy since he had bounded through the curtains some twenty minutes ago.

"You are an idiot Hikaru Sulu! Do not ewer do zhat to me again! Do you know how much I worried?"

Despite the gauze bandage covering most of his face, Hikaru did manage to look somewhat sheepish, "I'm sorry Pav. I just wasn't thinking straight."

"Zhat is right!" Pavel cried as he leapt to his feet and Hikaru smiled at his demented melodrama, "You better not do zhat again or I swear I will kill you myself!"

Sulu snorted, laughing despite himself, "Geez Pav, I'm shaking in my boots here."

"And so you should be!" the Russian exclaimed indignantly, completely missing Hikaru's blatant sarcasm. The young helmsman rolled his chestnut eyes and immediately regretted it, moaning and grasping at his head as another spasm of pain coursed through his skull like a flash of lightning. He wheezed laboriously and closed his aching eyes, furrowing his brow in absolute agony. He buried the back of his throbbing skull further into his foam pillow as his heart monitor increased in tempo, being careful not to disrupt the bandages encompassing his tender head. Pavel shut his mouth immediately and nearly crumbled to his friend's side, grasping the helmsman's hand as he fought to ride out the tumultuous storm.

A nurse came charging through the curtains with a tricorder in one hand and a hypo in the other, pushing past Pavel with a quick apology. She scanned him quickly and then administered the injection into his neck, pushing gently at the small device as it released into his skin. The sting of the hypo and the dull throbbing in his brain waned into relative silence as the medicine began to course through his tired veins and Hikaru began to feel his eyelids droop downwards involuntarily.

"Pav, I—"

"Shh..." Pavel whispered in reply, cutting off his friend's garbled mumblings. The young Russian squeezed his hand reassuringly and settled back onto his chair, watching the nurse leave with a soft expression out of the corner of his eye, "Go to sleep."

"But..."

"Do not worry. I will be here when you wake up."

* * *

Their moderate pace turned into a full out sprint as Spock flipped his communicator shut and shoved it back into his belt loop with uncharacteristic force. Jim sped up to match his speed and they broke off at a breakneck pace, their stride in perfect contest with each other. They brushed shoulders momentarily as Jim whipped out his own communication device, flicking it open with his thumb and speaking into it in haste.

"Kirk to bridge. I want a full lockdown on deck six, no exceptions. Nobody gets in, and nobody gets out."

"Aye sir."

Jim closed the device once again and glanced sidelong at the Vulcan beside him, a sense of apprehension filtering though the floodgates of their minds. Spock mentally clamped down on the fountain of unwarranted emotions and stopped the flow entirely, concentrating only on the distension of his muscles and the task that lay ahead.

The security division was buzzing with life as the captain and his first officer grappled onto the scene, the sea of active officers parting in a flurry of salutes. They ran past them, skidded around the furthermost corner and stopped short at the sight of a titanium alloy doorway, effectively stopping them dead in their tracks.

Jim stepped up to the control panel and activated the receiver with a curious expression. He was entirely unfamiliar with this part of the ship, having always been debriefed in his quarters by the men who worked inside. In all honesty, he hadn't even realized how top secret the Priority StarFleet Security Centre was.

"State your designation."

Jim stilled, responding to the computer's request, "James T. Kirk. Captain of the USS Enterprise. Serial number SC937-0176CEC."

"Acknowledged," it replied, "Retinal scan in progress."

Jim lowered his face to the receiver's scanner and allowed the device to examine his eyes, forcing himself not to blink as the scanner nearly blinded him. The computer recognized Jim and he leaned back, blinking his abused eyeballs profusely in relief.

"Welcome captain Kirk. Please proceed," the computer finally said, its last words nearly drowned out as the metal door began to unlock itself in a series of creaks and groans. The sound of metal against metal flooded his unusually sensitive ears as the door split open, allowing Jim to pass through into another chamber. He barely heard the door slam shut behind him as he stepped further into the hollow, too bewildered by the strange plastic limbo he was stuck in now. He took a few wary steps forward, startling himself with the sound of his shoes against the sticky plastic shell covering the entirety of the cylindrical room. He continued to move further, feeling extremely uncomfortable as he was scanned not once, but three times by robotic arms just beyond the shiny sheath that encased the eerie room. He swallowed roughly as he reached the other side of the hallway, coming up to another set of equally intimidating doors.

"State your name and rank," the computer ordered monotonously. Jim gazed warily over his shoulder and eyed the robotic arms suspiciously with a growing sense of misgiving; despite the lack of eyes, the damn things looked as if they were watching him.

"James T. Kirk. Captain of the USS Enterprise."

"Voice recognition confirmed. Please proceed."

The metallic doors parted before him and he was instantly bewildered by what he saw; a room nearly the size of an atrium filled his vision, its walls overwhelmed by storey decks and nano-optic screens that smothered the atrium's sides like a star studded sky. A troop of twenty or so officers were skittering back and forth with communicators and PADDs in hand from station to station, exchanging information so rapidly that even Jim was having trouble keeping up with the banter as they walked past. Jim felt like a man at a standstill in the midst of sea of people during rush hour and he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself.

Feeling somewhat foolish, Jim stepped forwards into the atrium and finally drew some attention from the frantic passerbyers. A security officer, clad in a black ops tunic rather than a red, broke from the current of people to greet him with a sharp salute. Jim nodded and followed the Andorian woman to the right sector of the atrium and up a set of stairs to the highest deck on that side.

"Captain!" A dark chair that had just been facing its station spun around and Jim immediately recognized him as Lieutenant Commander Samoan, his grinning face wide and inviting, "It's an honour to finally speak with you face to face."

Jim smiled back and held out his palm, shaking the hand of the man he had often spoke to via comm. units in security situations, "The feeling's mutual. But why have I never heard of this place?"

Samoan laughed out loud, his baritone filling the vast space, "We keep tabs on everything here, secret or public. We monitor every frequency, every unencrypted comm. conversation, every security device everywhere. We try to keep it quiet because of the work that we do here – wouldn't want a chatty officer telling the entire ship that StarFleet monitors their every move."

Jim immediately froze, his breath hitching painfully in his throat, "Whose side are you on then?" he asked suspiciously.

Samoan laughed again and rolled his eyes, his charming smile gleaming in the artificial light, "Engineers for Equality made their first broadcast through our frequencies. Believe me, there isn't a person on this ship who doesn't agree with you about the Demorians, save one, which brings me to why you're both here in the first place."

As Samoan spun around to drum up the data at his station, a familiar comfort strode to his side. Jim turned and smiled, asking wordlessly if he had known about the security atrium before. The expression of curiosity on the young Vulcan's features as he scanned the room quickly answered his question for him.

"We have the entire ship on high alert for Ford and security teams are sweeping the decks where the signal was discovered. Deck six is shut down and there's no means of escape there, so hopefully Ford is stuck somewhere on the top half of the ship."

"He's not picking up on the scans?"

"Somehow he managed to delete himself from the database and scramble his frequency."

"And with StarFleet down..."

"We have no electronic trace to track his flux throughout the Enterprise. We've collected DNA samples but it's been no use; our specialists believe that he's wearing some sort of device to bend his frequencies entirely."

"Great," Jim ran his fingers through his darkened hair in frustration, "We're warping into the only safe zone we have in the entire quadrant and I've got a potential ghost with a phaser hiding on my ship!"

Samoan shook his head understandingly, wringing his fingers together in his palms, "We've cleared him from Ensign Ashquabi's murder if that makes you feel any better."

Jim frowned, "But wasn't his phaser used to stun him? The Romulan may have killed him but his phaser signature indicates that he was involved at least."

Samoan smiled and tapped the side of his nose shrewdly, bringing up an image of Ford pacing in his bedroom throughout the victim's time of death, "He has an alibi. His little Romulan friend, however, does not."

The image on the screen changed and the various entryways into the engineering sector appeared in a grid across one of the larger displays. Samoan fast forwarded the images for a moment, pausing just as a figure was stepping into the emergency hatch adjacent to the water reactors at the bottom of the monitor. Samoan slid his fingers against the smooth surface of his station, manipulating it so that the image filled the entire screen. He zoomed in closer to the executor's face, using a stylus to highlight the only clear feature visible on the display.

"She is Romulan," Spock mused, narrowing his eyes slightly to sharpen his vision, "There can be no doubt of this."

"How can you tell?" Samoan asked, his words brimming with curiosity.

"The curvature of her ear is significant to that of a female," Spock replied, absently running his thumb against the stubble on his chin, "Additionally, the proportions of her body and her garb suggests she is female. The style of clothing she is bearing looks remarkably similar to the clothes in which Agent Suran was able to salvage from her compartment on the ship, indicating—"

"Wait," Jim interrupted, "You're saying Suran killed one of my officers?"

"If you had waited until I had finished my analysis," Spock chided, "You would have heard me concur that, unlike this particular Romulan, Agent Suran in only 168 centimetres in height. The Romulan in question, however, appears to be 180 centimetres in height."

"So...could this Romulan also be an agent?"

"Agent Suran was the only Empire spy on board the Romulan vessel. All of the other survivors were merely officers on the ship."

"So this mystery Romulan pinched some of Suran's clothes?"

"That is a probable hypothesis. However, until we are able to uncover more information, we must assume this outcome."

"We're working on uncovering more images of our mystery Romulan but so far she's been covering her face with either her hood or her hands," Samoan said, manipulating several images with his fingers on the monitor, "Like all of the other survivors, she came from the cargo bay on deck two. Either than that, the trail runs dry."

"And there's no surveillance in that cargo bay?" Jim asked.

Samoan simmered, "Initial designs didn't deem it important. Should we make it out of this alive, we'll be sure to file a complaint."

"Can you access medical records from this station?" Spock asked, changing the subject.

"Of course. As long as it's not confidential or encrypted, we can bring them up," Samoan turned around in his chair towards the officer a few feet away, "Ryga, pull up the medical records. Thin them out by gender and height."

"Aye sir," the Slovakian woman replied, pulling up the records of the Romulan survivors on the nano-optic screen before her. Within seconds she had the list narrowed down to three individuals with the approximate height of the executor in question, "Three female Romulans sir. Veleran i'Ihhliae Sigol, aged twenty; Dheal i'Mnaeha Keirianh, aged twenty two; S'anra ir'Thieurrull K'Tol, aged nineteen."

Samoan turned back to Jim and Spock with a grim expression on his features, "Any of these names ringing a bell?"

They each exchanged a glance and shook their heads in reply, scouring their thoughts for recognition of the names and coming up with nothing, "Do you have a visual reference of these females?" Spock asked.

"Searching now," Ryga replied, scrolling through several databases before pulling up three images on the screen beside one another, "These have been pulled from the medical records upon release from sickbay."

Jim frowned, "Was there any indication that the Romulan had long hair?"

Samoan pulled up all of the images from the Romulan's entrance into engineering and shook his head, "None. Her hair could have been tied up though."

Spock stepped closer to the three images, eyeing the female with the cropped hair cut close to her skull, "That is unlikely, but not impossible. It is uncommon for women in Romulan society to restrain their hair but it is not unheard of. Nomads of the Romulan race, such as those who originated from failed colonies like Thieurrull, were inclined to disregard Rihannsu tradition and faith. Then again, in a case such as this, it would be logical to conceal one's hair should it get in the way."

Jim scoffed, "Logical isn't a word I would use to describe a Romulan."

"On the contrary," Spock countered, "Though frequently emotional, the Romulan species is not unintelligent. Their capacities for knowledge are closer to that of a Vulcan than a Terran human."

"Point taken," Jim muttered in reply, raking his fingers through his hair, "Okay, so if we're no closer to figuring out whom she is via surveillance, what about finding her through the ship's logs? She had to have accessed the ship's blueprints somehow."

"I'm on it," Ryga exclaimed in return, filing through the history records at lightning speed. She highlighted five unauthorized blueprint access periods, their notations flashing in blue on the screen, "I have five pertaining logs sir, two of which were accessed through the science labs; the third was accessed in engineering and the fourth by crew member Ensign Katrín Guðmundsdóttir. The final one is completely encrypted and therefore inaccessible."

"Can you not decrypt it?" Jim asked.

"It's against StarFleet policy to do so. It's protocol to contact them on the severity of the situation before taking action."

"Well, StarFleet's a little tied up at the moment if you haven't already heard—"

"Perhaps," Spock piped in, placing his hand upon Jim's shoulder gingerly in an attempt to quell the frustration bulging from within him, "If the security officers present are unable to decrypt the message, is there anything stopping the Captain from deciphering it himself?"

A smile grew across Samoan's face as Spock's words digested in his mind, "Fantastic idea Commander," he turned towards Jim and offered him that same wily grin, "I'm curious to see if you really do live up to your reputation."

Jim snorted, sitting down at the station Samoan had just vacated, "Be warned. What you're about to see will blow your mind."

And with that, he got down to work.

Jim wasn't much when it came to languages, he'd be the first to admit, but he knew the basics of nearly every Federation vernacular well enough to converse in simple tongue and he was pretty proud of it.

Romulan, however, was an entirely different story.

"Spock, get down here," Jim muttered, waving the Vulcan closer so that he could read the encryption code over his shoulder, "I've got the sequence deciphered, it was rudimentary enough, but I can't get past the firewalls. They're all in—"

"Romulan, Reman dialect. I will attempt to interpret it myself, though if I am unable—"

"We'll have to call Uhura down to help us out. She could read this shit way faster—"

"Then you or myself would be able to in the allotted time," Spock gave the code a quick scan, unlocking the first in a series of defences using his knowledge of the little known dialect. He attempted to delve further into the firewall but could not achieve clearance, leaving him just as frustrated as his counterpart, "I am unable to decipher the majority of these glyphs. They have been crudely made by the ship's computer and without a thorough knowledge of the dialect, I am afraid that I will make crucial errors in the decryption process."

"I'll call her down immediately," Samoan said, turning again towards Ryga, "Program her into the database right away."

"Aye sir."

Samoan twisted back towards Jim and Spock, "You two keep trying. I'm going to see if there are anymore file encryptions like that one hiding in the databases."

Samoan slid to the station on the other side of Ryga and began analyzing files at a painstakingly slow pace. He was halfway through the records of the previous day when he detected a shift in the system and he sought to investigate it. Stiffening, he shot to his feet and spun around towards the main atrium, climbing onto one of the metal beams to draw attention to himself, "Security breach! Code red, I repeat, security breach! Files are being accessed, sector two oh two point six five oh, Jefferies tubes deck six!" Samoan turned and slammed his fist down onto his station, "Son of a bitch!"

Jim immediately cleared the code from his station and pulled up the ship's functions, narrowing down on the sector within seconds. He programmed the system to infrared imaging and was immediately rewarded with the outline of a crouching body stooped just over top of a CPU conduit, "He's accessing the mainframe. I'm sending a discharge through now." Jim imputed an altering program and shorted the conduit, sending an electric shock strong enough to temporarily paralyze Ford through the system. Ford was electrocuted and the bug he was using to dump the system was fried in its tracks, reversing the previous damage he had sought to create.

Samoan turned his head and threw Jim a huge grin, "Damn Kirk!"

Jim smirked and pulled up the infrared imagery, happy to see Ford's outline sprawled flat against the floors of the Jefferies tubes. And though he was down for now, Ford had put in place a series of encrypted firewalls to keep the Jefferies tubes from being accessed during his hack and the codes Spock was attempting to bypass were getting harder and harder to clear.

Jim could sense the Vulcan's aggravation and spared his hand for a moment, gently squeezing his knee in reassurance. Spock met his eyes and breathed outwards, a little bit of his pent up tension escaping from his lungs. Jim smiled and squeezed again before immersing himself once again in the sea of codes and ciphers in an attempt to catch Ford once and for all.

"Goddamnit Ford!"

Both Jim and Spock turned around to see Samoan and Ryga poised at their stations, the former's fists nearly denting the control board, "He's disappeared."

"What?"

"He's gone! He must have detected that we had found his signal and locked on because he scrambled himself again," Samoan collapsed into his chair and rubbed his fingers through his unruly hair, "He's a ghost. Again."

Jim pursed his lips and glanced over at Spock, disappointment racking though his system, "And there's no way of tracking him?"

"This guy's too smart," Samoan sighed, "Our only bet is to keep looking."

Jim shifted in his seat and exhaled, releasing some of the tension in his muscles, "Then let's get back to breaking this code. It may bring us closer to Ford."

Samoan nodded, "Bring it up. Lieutenant Uhura just passed through the primary holding. She'll be arriving shortly."

Another two minutes passed and Nyota was at their side, looking decidedly dishevelled and annoyed. She was pretty incensed that Jim had called her down when she was off duty but was quickly quieted, her eyes having come across the litany of Reman symbols splayed chaotically across the screen above. Her frown was turned into a smug smirk as she pushed her two superior officers out of the way, clacking her nails against the station to begin.

"Geez," she muttered quietly, digging deeper into the script, "Are you sure she's not a doctor? Her script could give Leo a run for his money."

Spock stepped closer to her hunched form and leaned over slightly to monitor her progress, "Are you able to translate it?"

Nyota looked up at him incredulously, her eyes issuing him a fiery challenge, "Of course I can. I'm the only person in the fleet who can read this damn dialect and don't you ever forget it."

Jim grimaced as Spock stepped backwards to hover at his side, "She's starting to sound like him," he whined quietly into Spock's ear, glancing at the back of her head warily.

"I heard that!"

Jim backed away slightly, edging towards Samoan instead, "Mr. Spock and I will be returning to the bridge. Let me know right away when you crack the code and analyze the data. I want to know who killed Ensign Ashquabi and I want Ford found, even if you have to contain the whole damn ship. The closer we get to this Romulan, the closer we get to Ford."

Samoan nodded in acknowledgement and offered him a small smile, "Don't worry Kirk. We'll get this guy."

"Damn right you better," Jim replied with a grin of his own, "Let's go Mr. Spock."

Jim turned around and started down the stairs, his Vulcan commander on his heels. They passed through the throng of people on the atrium floor and strode through the exit, finding themselves in main security once again. They filtered through the crowds of redshirts and were finally out into the hallways once again, striding as fast as they could at a walking pace towards the bridge.

"Do you think we'll find him?"

Spock turned his head slightly, his eyes grazing Jim's with a silent contentment, "I do not know what will happen. But he is working alone now. There is no possible way he could send a transmission outside of this ship without our knowledge."

Jim sighed and tugged at the hem of his gold command shirt, pulling it further down his body, "I know. But still, look at the way he accessed the mainframe today. Even you or I couldn't keep up with the barriers he put against us. Imagine if he managed to tap into the engines, or life support, or the reactor or—"

Spock snatched at his wrist and pulled him into the closest room, pressing Jim against the wall in an attempt to suppress his hysterical breakdown with one hand and keying in his override lock with the other. After successfully completing the latter, he turned his entire concentration on Jim and tried to calm him down with a varying degree of success.

"Calm yourself Jim," he said quietly, "This ship and her crew need your full concentration, no matter what emotional turmoil you may feel inside."

Jim took a deep breath, grasping the shelving unit beside him to steady himself, "I just, I can't seem to control it sometimes. I get so angry, or so crazy all of the sudden and..."

"I believe your symptoms are consistent with the meld transfer. You are experiencing the main reason as to why the Vulcan race chose to suppress their emotions."

Jim gazed upwards into Spock's onyx eyes, barely seeing into their depths in the dim light of the room, "I haven't felt normal in days Spock! I'm going to turn into one of you if Bones doesn't turn us back soon."

Spock brought his hand upwards, brushing his palm against Jim's neck in an attempt to calm him, "After such a period of time, I'm afraid that some of the damage may be irreversible."

"Irreversible?" Jim was beginning to become hysterical again, the hormones within his fragile system churning tumultuously in his blood stream, "I'm going fucking crazy Spock! Crazy!"

Spock brought his other hand upwards to rest against the stricken human's cheek, bridging the gap between them as he pressed their foreheads together, "Please Jim, calm yourself. You must, for your ship and for your crew."

"Jesus Spock," Jim grappled at Spock's shirt and tugged the blue cloth into his desperate hands, "I can't even think straight. What if I attack my crew? What then?"

"Be still," he replied, pushing the young human further against the wall, "Do not let your emotions control you."

Jim moaned quietly and collapsed against the wall, Spock's body being the only thing holding him upright. The Vulcan wrapped one of his arms around the human's waist and pressed them closer, his slender lips only millimetres away from Jim's own, "But Spock, I—"

"No," he whispered, grazing his tongue against the edge of his teeth as he dipped closer, "Do not let your emotions control you."

Jim groaned and leaned backwards, his mind reeling with images that didn't belong to him, growing and merging inside of him until he felt he would burst. Lust began to overtake him, seizing control of his thoughts and his body as though he were possessed, hungry. He pressed against his Vulcan as fervently as he could, burrowing his face into the crook of his neck, kissing him, biting him, celebrating him as he slipped into madness.

"Jim," Spock breathed, attempting to step away from the delirious human only to be trapped by the door. The small supply closet seemed to close in on him as Jim drew closer, his eyes dilating as he stepped nearer and nearer.

Jim pushed him into the door and pressed his lips against Spock's, parting them with his tongue and ravishing them with his teeth. Spock tried to resist, tried to turn his head and move away but was locked into place, Jim's nearly equal strength holding him tightly between himself and the door. Drawing back, Spock could feel Jim's desire pooling within him, slowly leaching into his blood stream until he couldn't stop himself. He was losing it, losing it, gone, gone—

_BEEP BEEP!_

Spock took advantage of Jim's momentary distraction and pushed him backwards, watching as Jim's eyes returned to their natural cerulean shade. The Vulcan breathed heavily as he reached for Jim's communicator, bleeping and flashing in earnest.

"Commander Spock here."

"Commander? Where's the captain?" Samoan asked, his voice strained with the weight of his unspoken news.

Spock threw Jim a cursory glance before speaking again into the handheld device, "He is currently occupied. However, he left his communicator with me should an emergency arise."

"Well, when he's done, be sure to tell him to call us back. We've hit a breakthrough."

"Have you discovered the whereabouts of Ensign Ford?"

"Not yet. But we know the identity of the Romulan who murdered Ensign Ashquabi."

"What is her name?"

"S'anra ir'Thieurrull K'Tol, the short haired one. And she wasn't just playing around with the computers during her stay. We found an encrypted file of a set of blueprints she used our software to recreate."

An unsettling feeling began to form in the pit of his stomach, "What are the blueprints of?"

Samoan hesitated on the other line, "A weapon Commander. And it's not good."

* * *

So, while I was writing this, I kept thinking about Ghost and then I kept imagining Jim as Molly and Spock as Sam in that fantastic pottery scene and that song going on in the backround and...please somebody write/draw this. I don't even know what I would do with myself if I saw it. I'd probably cry with joy.

Thanks to: lyri (love you as always!), MirrorFlower and DarkWind (thank you again!), Sharingan-Fer-Sure (Thanks! I always look forward to your reviews!), Veglma (Spot on! The whole Bones telling Spock about his lovelife was complete revenge on how people always write Bones as the one who becomes the unofficial sex therapist! Poor Bones, I'd hate to be him! Thanks!), thebrunetteditz (Thank you for letting me know! I really appreciate hearing from you! Thanks!), bmoonblackdragon (That must have been a hell of a reading frenzy! Thanks!), K2 on Alcatraz (I love Firefly! Holy crap, I just want to marry Mal and throw Jane out an airlock! I wish they had made another movie!), bookworm-4-ever2012 (Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed the humour and the TENSION. Your caps made me giggle! Thanks!), knp10 (Violence is not the answer! Haha thanks!), Hurricanelights (Thank you thank you so much! I'm glad I gave your smile muscles a workout!), YourDarkMistress. (You were completely right about the dream sequence thing; basically, Jim's gone batshit Vulcan crazy. But we'll see that a little further on hahaha! And thank you for the amazing complements! You're absolutely amazing!), calipalace (Ah you make me blush! I'm so incredibly happy that you liked the humour and your reviews always put a huge smile on my face and inspire me to write. Thank you!) and arctic draconis (I couldn`t agree with you more. The transition was shit and I`ll be the first to admit it! This Demorian story wasn't planned in all honesty and when this is all over I'm planning on rewriting the midsection. Thank you for your criticm though; it was greatly appreciated!)

Please review again! I always love to hear from you amazing people!

Love and fluff,

Brontë


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